An Angel's Redemption
by TheDayYouSaidGoodnight
Summary: When you decide to die, you give up the hope to change. When you are curious, you could get into trouble. "...but I wanted to give you a second chance...you needed it.” And she gave him one, in spite of knowing what horrors he had done. Movie/book-based
1. Forgive me, Father

After watching the movie and reading the book, I found myself thinking of a story about Camerlengo Ventresca. I was disappointed that he immolated himself in the end. Kudos to Ewan McGregor for playing the camerlengo well in the film. This character was one of the most awesome I've ever known, whether in literature or film. I want to warn you about a few changes here and there. I will be combining concepts from both the book and the movie. I hope it works out.

Disclaimer: I don't own A&D but I based a few events from it. Dan Brown wrote it. I don't own the film as well. I only own the unfortunate soul here who unknowingly puts herself into trouble.

* * *

Chapter 1: Forgive me, Father

_Madness._

_Guilt._

_Shame._

_Morphine._

This diabolical combination surged within his veins. His tired feet were racing to the Niche of the Palliums, fingering a combustible object in his pocket. His pale flesh shone brightly in the ninety-nine lamps, which seemed to shine brighter at the sight of him.

Taking one of the oil lamps, he descended, almost floating down the niche. _A solitary death? This would never do! Christ died in the eyes of the world._ His contemplation ended by a stroll to the balcony, where he would appear before the people, but not after pouring the butane from the oil lamp onto his hair, clothes and skin.

_Smelling sweet…just like mother…but burning like Hell…_

Dressed immaculately in white, he glistened in a flurry of flashbulbs, the world spellbound. As he raised his hands to heaven, the world prayed with him. When they bowed down their heads, he reached for the golden lighter in his pocket.

And there was fire…

They thought he was ascending into heaven…no…he was not. He was in pain…burning but he did not flinch. It seemed to be a miracle for the eyes staring from below. No one could have ever said he looked awful even if he was in flames. He might have been the image of unearthly beauty.

Then, he was gone.

* * *

While the whole world was hypnotized by the divine sight, she went into the basilica. Nobody would stop her anyway. Everybody was frozen. Even in the dark, St. Peter's Basilica was an awesome sight, especially upon seeing the imposing monument over the tomb of the first Pope.

There were sounds bouncing off the wide vaults and columns of the church. _Find the camerlengo!_ Were they real? _WHAT HAS HE DONE TO OUR CHURCH?_ Eerily, they resounded like large bells booming in the distance. _He killed the Pope! He set up all of this!_

She did not move, eyes glowering in the dark. She heard the truth.

_No one would mind an extra hand in the search…I'm going to find him too…and BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF HIM. _She thought, trying to find a path to the balcony. She was immediately captivated by the ninety-nine lamps of the Niche. Walking slowly, her every step echoing in the silent hall, she almost slipped as she neared the Niche.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS THIS?!" she saw a slippery liquid on the floor. _Oh, great. Someone spilled lamp oil. Wait..what…the…_ The liquid seemed to leave a trail, going to another area of the great structure.

She ran, running a track parallel to the oil spill. She went up a flight of stairs which seemed to be a mile long. _Where on earth is that bastard?_

He did not ascend into heaven. How could a murderer, a fraud and a lunatic do so? He just disappeared behind the walls of the Papal balcony. His body seemed like a torch, glowing orange in the darkness. Still no sound of agony went through his lips. It was not the morphine.

_This shall be my end…I shall be with you, Father…finally. It is finished._

In a burning heap, he fell on the floor. Before being consumed by the darkness, he heard the loud thumps of a pair of shoes. _Who could this be? It doesn't matter…I will die._

The owner of the boisterous steps had found the camerlengo before anyone else could. He was still burning, yet the flames seemed to grow dimmer. _How could I beat the crap out of a burning guy?_ Mercy painfully pinched her heart and it hurt. She scanned the area for anything, a blanket, water, whatever could put out the fire.

A shiny object caught her eye. _THANK GOD FOR CO__2__ FIRE EXTINGUISHERS!_ With a rush of adrenaline, she yanked it off the wall and started removing the seal. Positioning the hose at the base of the flame, she let the foamy substance douse the flames until the body seemed to be covered in snowballs.

She could smell the sweetest of scents there, yet as she knelt near the unconscious chamberlain, she knew what gave off the odor: the butane poured all over.

Arguing in her mind were the options whether to turn him in and let him face terrible punishment or to give him a second chance. She looked at his forlorn face, wracked by the look of pain. She closed her eyes, still deciding. _He may have done insane things…but his behavior does not entitle him to suffer this way. If I would be excommunicated or something, I don't care…at least I knew my cause was worthy._

She latched his arm on her shoulder, while trying to find an easier escape. She knew where…the gardens. She clumsily walked, slightly dragging the camerlengo, who appeared more drunk than dying. In the darkness, they were well-hidden. By some miracle, they got out of the complex structures which comprised the Vatican. They were now outside it.

She took out keys from her pocket and pushed a button. The headlights of a black Fiat flashed. Opening the back door, she almost shoved the camerlengo irreverently. _Bless me, father, for I have sinned. This will not be a leisurely ride._

She slammed the door of the driver's seat shut, and she had one destination in mind: Aurelia Hospital on Via Aurelia.

She went past the speed limit. Everyone was at the Vatican anyway. In a surge of urgency, she reached the place in a few minutes. She parked her car on impulse, knowing that a life could end here and then. She turned off the engine, got the priest out and ran…but not to the emergency room. She went through the back door.

* * *

He was one of the resident doctors of the hospital, a dermatologist, but he was also working in the emergency department but no emergency would prepare him for the one which was to come right now. Doctor Elijah Cruz sighed in exhaustion. Heart attacks, stampede victims and a few shootings were common in the ER at the moment. Almost like the scenes in the ER's of his home country, the Philippines, except this hospital was probably better-equipped.

"_Dottore, suo cugino è qui." _A nurse said, with panic in her tone. _MY COUSIN?! WHAT HAS SHE BEEN UP TO AGAIN?_ "_Vengo_." He said, as she nodded. He knew she'd sneak again through the back door and talk to Sabina Pietri, the nurse who told him of her presence.

He made long, fast steps to reach a private room at the end of the corridor. Sabina had gone ahead of him and went into the room. When he opened the door, he found her, tired and probably in trouble…again. But this time, she was not alone. She was with a man, and he was unconscious on the bed.

"Elijah…I need you to help me. This guy got burned. Just do anything to keep him alive." Her voice was pleading, far from the tone she had always used. "Helena…who the hell is he? Wearing a burnt white nightgown, no less." "Could I trust you and Sabina?" she said, fear in her eyes.

Sabina's hazel eyes became as big as saucers as she seemed to recognize the injured man. "He's the…" "_Sabina, tutto spiegherò _(Sabina, I will explain everything.)" Helena said. Out of shock, Elijah said in his native tongue,

"_MAGDADALA KA NG MAMAMATAY-TAO RITO? HINDI MO BA ALAM KUNG ANONG PWEDENG MANGYARI?_ (You're bringing a killer here? Don't you know what could happen?)" he said, obviously afraid. "_ANONG MAS IMPORTANTE SA'YO: MAKALIGTAS NG ISANG TAONG PWEDE PANG MAGBAGO O IYAKAN ANG NAMATAY NA?_ (What's more important to you: to save a person who could still change or cry over the dead?)" she said, brown eyes showing unshakable conviction.

Elijah sighed. He knew he could not stand against her. "This will not be my fault if we get caught. He should be in the asylum…not here. I wish you heard what the scientist and the American guy said on TV." "To hell with being caught! We're doing something noble!" Helena blurted.

"Maybe I could give a suggestion to keep the guy's identity a secret. Give him a good codename." Sabina said, going out to get some supplies for the immolated priest. "I'll think of one. Thank you, Sabina. Now please, Elijah, work well on this one. I can prove the world wrong." Helena said as Elijah's face softened.

He looked at the poor man. "Alright. I'll do my best. I'll cover the brand mark when Sabina comes back. That way, other staff won't suspect him." Elijah quickly cut off the burned clothing and bit his lip when he saw the hideous brand mark on the camerlengo's chest.

Helena sat beside the bed, throwing her head back and staring at the ceiling. "As far as I remember, his name is Patrick McKenna…right?" she asked as Elijah was now cleaning the fire extinguisher foam and looking at the burns.

"Yes…that's it…and whatever fire-fighting technique you did, you somehow saved him from a few second-degree and third-burns. The burns are mostly on his arms and hands though. His face was somehow spared…his hair…a bit. He seems to be under the influence of morphine." Elijah said, somehow panicky that Sabina had not yet entered the room.

"How about 'Carlo'?" "It's pretty common. Good enough. Now give him a surname." "Just let me think. There are a lot of nice surnames…" while Helena was still thinking, Sabina burst into the room, her hands full. Efficiently, she and Elijah had him monitored on machines and treated his wounds. All his vital signs seemed to be on the low end, yet stabilizing.

"Sorry for being late…stupid air vent repairmen got me looking for another way here." "Vent? I got it! Ventresca!" Helena said, like saying "Eureka!" Sabina was stifling a laugh, while Elijah looked dead serious.

"Alright, Archimedes. Now don't you run naked through the streets of Syracuse…alright…we now call him Carlo Ventresca. We need you to go out for a moment. We'll call you when it's okay. Where do you want to stay for the time being?" Elijah said, not even lifting his head.

"I'll be in the hospital chapel." Helena said. "Thank you so much guys. You can blackmail me into anything if you keep him alive." She left the room, not making another sound.

* * *

As people passed by her, they gave her a strange look. It wasn't because she was hard on the eyes but she seemed to give an air of authority even in streetwear. She could remember a conversation with her mother when she was a teen.

_The boys on the street just had to give a helpless wolf-whistle. She was eighteen, studying criminology at the Philippine National Police Academy, wearing a cadet's uniform which seemed a bit tight on her._

"_Hey, isn't this the daughter of Dolores? The whore? She doesn't look like either her father or her mother!" one of them said, suddenly cut off by another, "Oh…she'll be like her mother, some sleazy woman who went abroad…but this girl is a goddess!" Upon that, they toasted their beer glasses and drank._

_She looked ahead at the road, not minding. "Hey miss, want to be with me tonight?" a shameless one asked, holding her shoulder. She did not even look back. She just gave a quick side kick to the man's chest and sent him reeling backwards. _

_At home, she talked to her mother with an air of disgust and disappointment. "Why do people notice me when I don't want to notice them? Hooting…shouting…flirting. They called you a whore…I know you aren't." Her mother sighed, "Perhaps, I should tell you the truth."_

"_What truth?" "Your father…" "What about dad?" "Listen. The man you look up to as a father in this house is NOT your biological father. Don't you notice that he seems so apprehensive to call you "_anak_ (daughter)?" "Then who, _Inay _(mother)_, _who?"_

"_I went to Spain to work…and there I met your father…Joaquin Cuesta, who was my boss. I had a relationship with him and I never expected this to happen. When he found out, he left me…and there I met one of our countrymen…later, he thought that you were his child…so he married me…but when he learned the truth…he didn't pour his rage on me…he didn't want you." She said, crying._

_No words. No flinching. Nothing._

Her hair was a cascade of black ink ending in curls, framing her light tan face. Her brown eyes were darting straight ahead, her full lips slightly frowning. She was lanky, going down the halls like a flickering silhouette.

Dressed in a black shirt, a checkered and tasseled red scarf tied like a neckerchief and dark blue jeans ending in faded sneakers, she seemed edgy in comparison to the people in the chapel she was entering.

She knelt down after going to the backmost pews and gazed at the crucifix for long. _Forgive me, Father. I don't know if what I am doing is right or wrong. Grant me courage to face whatever happens. Thank you that somehow, he's still alive. If he's insane, restore his sanity. If he's lost, be the Light to guide him. If he's dead, restore his life. If he is evil, help him change. I am now harboring the most despised man in the world. Help me…help him…and…_

"Amen." It was the only word she said after ending a long prayer. She sat down. She was hoping he would live. She felt sorry for him because he tried to make things right…yet using wrong means. She fell asleep on the pew, exhausted and drained.

* * *

Thank you for sparing me a few moments of your time. For questions, review or PM me. I will be more than happy to answer your queries.

For now, _arrividerci_.

-TDYSG


	2. New Life

Thank you for the warm reception of my first chapter, readers. Since you've asked for it, I'll give you the second chapter…and I'm going to post this while listening to "No You Girls" by Franz Ferdinand. This story will have touches of humor every now and then.

Inesika8: Thank you for being the first reviewer of my fic. A review is one of the best things you could give to an author.

Annax1031: No problem with the logging in. Hehe. With your idea of the name changing, I could just say that I believe in the saying, "Great minds think alike." I won't mind if you decide to push on with the idea. It seems to me like two trains running on parallel tracks, with the same idea, but with different manner of presentation. By the way, thank you for the review.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything…except the dog you'll meet in this chapter.

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Chapter 2: New Life

_Is this heaven? It seems so bright…like when I was young. I just have to open my eyes and find out._ Patrick opened his eyes and was blinded by the white light. He was forced to shut them again. _How long have I been knocked out cold?_

"Have I been dreaming or his eyes flickered open?" Elijah said, rubbing his brown eyes. "No, doctor. He did open his eyes." Sabina said, pinching her peach flesh to make sure their lack of sleep was not disorienting them. They started treating him at around 2 a.m. It was already 6 in the morning, Saturday, and he was in a stable condition, more or less.

"Call Helena." Elijah said, as Sabina hurriedly obeyed. "Buy us some coffee. We need it." He called after her. The patient kept his eyes closed, as if not yet ready to see the world again. _I could bet 1 000 lire that this isn't heaven._ The camerlengo thought, hearing the rhythmic pulsing of the ECG.

* * *

Helena was sitting straight on the pew, yet with her head bowed down, eyes shut. One could have mistaken her for praying and not snoozing. Sabina found her sitting there. "Helena?" She called softly. No response.

"Helena…you can go back there." She said, tapping her finger on Helena's shoulder. The sleeping woman shook her head and opened her eyes. "Oh…sorry. How's Pat--Carlo?" she said, stressing the name. "He's stable. For a moment ago we thought his eyes just flashed like headlights. Want to see him?" "Alright, let's go." She genuflected at the aisle as she and Sabina went out.

They stopped to buy coffee from the hospital cafeteria, as well as 3 food items: a croissant for Elijah, a large package of lasagna for Helena and a huge BLT for Sabina. When they opened the door, they found Elijah recording some data on a worn clipboard.

They sat down, eating breakfast beside one another on a simple couch near the window, facing an endless row of Roman houses.

"I hate to admit it…but you're right, Helena, he deserves a second chance." Elijah said, carefully dusting a few crumbs from his spotless lab coat. "Especially with a face like that…like an angel from heaven. He's lucky that the burns didn't destroy his face." Sabina said. "Tsu!" that scornful noise from Helena's lips escaped. "Sabina…you mean a demon with the face of an angel."

Unbeknownst to them, Patrick heard everything, yet he played the part of clueless sleeping patient so well, they didn't suspect him. Well, if he could play branded martyr flawlessly, a sleeping patient was a piece of cake. _Maybe I am a demon._ But he couldn't hold the part for long. The smell of food in the air aroused his senses, as well as his empty stomach.

The lights were now off. Yes, this was not heaven, but the beams of sunlight flooding through the window almost made it seem like it. He opened his startling eyes and looked at the three, who were staring at him.

"Uh…good morning." He said, his accent odd. "Good morning." They replied apprehensively. Helena almost dropped her fork. "I think you heard what the hell we were saying…and don't mind it. And I'm sorry…this isn't heaven." She said, as if he would kill her.

"I take no offense. How did I get here?" he asked, the sunlight making his bluish-green eyes look more intense than ever. "When you hid behind the wall after burning yourself, I was curious to go inside the basilica. I heard some voices and just walked because I was creeped out. I saw a trail of slippery stuff, followed it and got a fire extinguisher and you know the rest. I took you here because you'd be safe. I heard what the people inside the church said. I'm sorry for shoving you into the backseat a few hours ago." Helena said as frankly as possible.

"No need for apologies. You saved my life…you saved me from myself." Patrick said, definitely thankful. "But Father…I have a confession to make. Forgive me…but I was planning on beating the living daylight out of you when I heard the voices." She did not dare look at him. _He's going to kill me. He's going to kill me._ He only gave a long sigh and adjusted his bed to a reclining position using a button at the side.

"Perhaps I deserved it." He said, leading the room into silence, broken only by the beeping of the ECG.

_No…he won't kill me…_Helena said, as if the grenade exploded quieter than it was supposed to.

_What the hell was she thinking?!_ Sabina thought.

_Good Lord!_ Elijah exclaimed within his head.

"Would you like me to call for breakfast?" Sabina asked, breaking the deafening silence. No answer was heard. She left the room as Elijah also did. "I'll come back soon." He said, but his tone didn't seem convincing.

"If you think I should've died, why did you save me? To be honest, I'm afraid for you. You can get into trouble for helping me…an insane clergyman who murdered his own father and endangered the Catholic Church…" his words trailed off.

"I was struggling with my head when I extinguished the flames but I wanted to give you a second chance. When I saw you, I knew immediately that you needed it." She walked over to him and sat on the bed. "I made a mess out of myself. I don't know if the world will ever forgive me." He said, closing his eyes. "In God's time…"

_In God's time…_No other words played in his head as he opened his eyes again.

She was gazing into his intense blue-green eyes, looking at her with pain and remorse. "You're not crazy to me…you were just traumatized. Anyone who says that they're demented is sane. He is aware of his thoughts and deeds. An insane person would never ever think about it! The world found out about everything last night. I admired your guts…even to pull off the biggest crisis in modern history."

"I wanted to reverse everything, take steps back to the straight and narrow…but I overacted. I poisoned the Pope, only to find out he was my father. I had four cardinals killed and resurrected an old enemy that was actually extinct. I thought I heard the voice of God and the promises of my mother but now, I understand it was only my narrow-mindedness that triggered these events. Had I listened…I might have known. I cannot return to the past, I can only take things as they come. In the eyes of the world right now, I am Evil Incarnate." The camerlengo said.

He took his numb, burnt hand from under the white blanket and laid it over hers. "I am grateful that you have saved me, but I worry for your safety. I see in you a strong personality but the dangers around you are stronger." His voice was barely a whisper.

Silence seemed to be the order of the day, as moments passed without a word between them. Helena looked at him intently, as if he would vaporize if she took her eyes off him. Even with the grisly detail told to her, she did not care. All she saw in him was conviction and wisdom, as well as his face, pained yet angelic, with all its scars and wounds. His eyes were the most expressive part of him. She could see a man tormented by his past, by his wrongs, by his misconceptions. Her eyes widened suddenly, as if she had realized something by looking into those stunning eyes.

"A man is separate from his behavior. Commission of sinful acts does not necessarily make you a bad person." Helena said. "Are you saying I'm not…" Patrick almost retorted, but was cut off. "Yes…and I believe there's a lot of good in you. Just believe that you can…one day, I promise you…you shall NEVER be remembered for last night. You will be remembered for a noble act that a good soul can make. Do you want that?" she asked, brimming with hope.

"Yes…I do." "Oh, just promise me you won't kill anyone and fool a whole Church." She said, giggling a bit. "Alright. I promise." "Now, if you don't want to get turned in…you're going to assume some other identity for a while. I thought of a codename for you last night. How does 'Carlo Ventresca' sound, Father?" "I guess it's good. Please…don't call me father...I am deciding on giving up my religious vows due to my crime."

"But you aren't dispensed yet…you're still a priest. Very well then…from here on, you are Carlo…until some time. Now dig into that heart of yours and convince yourself that you can change." She poked his chest a bit, the gesture being an emphasis. "Owwww! That hurts!" he said, shielding his hospital gown-clad chest with an arm. "Oh… I'm sorry! Can I confess my sins now? Mostly they were against you." She said, covering her mouth in shame.

"Uh…do hospitals have CCTV's? They might have heard everything we've said." "No, Father…they don't." "Alright, then. Let's start confession." Father McKenna, now known as Carlo Ventresca, said, smiling. "Hey, that's the first time you've smiled since waking up!"

* * *

It was after confession that Sabina and Elijah burst into the doors, with Sabina carrying a tray of food. Elijah's hair was tussled all over and his coat was smeared with blood. "We're sorry we took so long. Some car accident happened a few minutes ago and we had to respond. I hope you don't mind an 8:10 breakfast." Sabina said, laying the tray on a table.

There was still pain in his hands, afflicted with second-degree burns. They were bandaged and with antibiotics. He couldn't hold onto anything for too long. "I know this sounds too childish of me…but…can any of you put the food into my mouth?" "Well, actually, we have to. The burns in your hand will cause you a lot of pain. I just don't know who's willing." Elijah said, snickering.

_They may be very candid…any other priest could have scolded them…but I like these three. They give me back the feeling of being human._ Patrick thought, a smile forming on his face. "Let's make this easy for all of you…and probably fun, if you see it that way. Take turns in feeding me." There was a wicked grin on his face. Sabina and Helena's mouths were wide open.

"I never knew you could be so…so…bad! This is worse than last night's fiasco!" Helena almost blurted out the last word of her first sentence. Elijah was already laughing. "Father, you rock my world…never have I seen a priest so "in-touch"." He said, awed by the clergyman's humor. _A lot of people in the Vatican think that way about me too…especially Chartrand._

"Alright. I'm sorry." The camerlengo apologized, to the relief of Sabina and Helena. "I'm sorry, Father, but I must leave. No one knows what could be happening in the ER. Great joke, by the way." Sabina said, smiling as she turned to the door and left. "Well…I have to get my coat cleaned…too much blood on it. I might be mistaken for a murderer. Goodbye, Father. See you later, Helena." Elijah said, his metal name tag on his pocket glimmered in the sunlight as he left: _Dr. Elijah Cruz, Dermatologist/ ER Department_

So as not to offend anyone anymore, Patrick tried to take up the several pieces of toasted bread and bacon on the plate. His eyes became larger at the sight of sliced fresh fruits on another plate: strawberries, mangoes, papayas and oranges. A cup of steaming chocolate was at the uppermost left corner, with a glass of cold water across it.

"No! Don't pick it up! The antibiotic on the bandages of your hand might get into your food and don't deny it…your hands hurt." Helena said. Patrick put down his hands. "I'll be back in a moment." She said, going to the bathroom to wash her hands.

She sat down beside him again and got a piece of toast, breaking it into smaller pieces to make it easier for him. "Eat up." She said, her hand offering him a golden piece of toast which was impossible to ignore.

He ate voraciously, as if he had not eaten for days, yet he told her to get from his plate if she wanted, but he didn't know that she had taken breakfast a few hours ago. She only took a slice of orange. After 20 minutes, not even a crumb was left on the tray. Helena left it near the front door.

"Thank you for helping me eat. I feel much better." He said, giving her that patented grin. "You'll feel like a new person when you get out of here…you can live with me while you try to put your life back on the right track. Of course, there will be only five people who'll know of your "existence": Sabina Pietri, the nurse; Dr. Elijah Cruz, my cousin; Father Patrick McKenna…or should I say…Carlo Ventresca;…hmmm…me…Officer Helena Maria Gallego…and…"

_Sabina…Elijah…me…and her…hmmm…Helena is a nice name…and her cousin has a religious name…who else knows about this?_ The camerlengo thought. "…God." Helena said the last word. "Of course…nothing escapes his eyes. You're a police officer, then?" "It's not obvious, I guess."

"Thank you for all of these…I can't imagine what steps you're taking…I know your reasons now…but why go this far?" "You've thanked me enough already. The only thing I'll ask from you is to find your true self and live your life."

_With gratitude…I will not fail you, Helena.

* * *

_

He went out of the hospital Thursday night. By then, his burns were reduced to mere marks, and his scars had almost disappeared. Elijah was able to provide him with clothes, but Helena was forced to buy him some underwear because of an argument of who would buy it (which ended up being a heads-tails game, where she lost), hiding her wavy locks under a cap and wearing large sunglasses. She wore the baggiest apparel she could find and made her way to the department store. Besides underwear, she got him a decent pair of sneakers, a durable pair of jeans, a few shirts and a jacket. She and Elijah halved the total cost.

She had a decent salary as an officer in the Roman Police while he had good compensation for his job as a doctor. When it came to the hospital bill, Helena and Elijah found a way to claim some insurance money to pay off the bill.

That night, he was sitting on his bed, tying the laces of his sneakers. All his new apparel were folded neatly in a black duffel bag.

"Well, you're ready to go…Carlo." Sabina said. "You're an odd patient, but we like you the same. Helena will be coming soon. She just readied her flat for you." Elijah said, shaking his hand.

There was a light rapping on the door. It was Helena. "Whoa." She said, upon seeing him dressed up in something other than a cassock.

"I almost didn't recognize you, Fa—Carlo. What on earth did you do to your hair?" she said in wonder, looking at the reddish-brown spikes which adorned his head. "Ready to go now?" "Yes." He said, an eager smile on his lips. "Have you eaten dinner?" she asked. "Yes…have you?" she nodded. "See you again, Carlo." Elijah said. "Come back here and visit. Don't get into trouble again." Sabina said. He nodded, his eyes glinting with hope.

He carried his bag and walked beside Helena. The hospital staff went to his room when he was out, and they smelled a sweet, perfume-like scent emanate from the sheets. It was the butane from his skin. "Was your patient gay?" one of them asked, glaring dangerously at Sabina. "No." and that ended it.

"Nobody will recognize you…especially with those spikes. The people have only seen you with your hair slicked back." Helena said, words almost inaudible. As they went through the long hallways of the Aurelia Hospital, people always stared at them. The doctors would be winking at Helena while most of the nurses giggled when they saw Pat----Carlo.

"I think we're drawing too much attention." Carlo told her. "We're not giving them any. Let them be." Helena said, as they went out the lobby and found her black Fiat in the basement parking.

The drive home was uneventful; the streets were almost empty. They stopped in front of one apartment out of the several that were lined up on the streets of Piazza Navona. "Home sweet home." Helena said as she and Carlo went out.

She opened the door to her house and went inside its dark hallways. She turned on the light, revealing a shoe rack, an umbrella rack and a coat rack near the door. There was a set of fast-moving footsteps approaching them. Carlo was a bit anxious as he heard them yet Helena seemed joyful to hear the sound.

Out came from the darkness, a Siberian husky came out, probably not an adult yet, for he was not as big as he was supposed to be. Its brown eyes became as big as saucers when he saw Helena. He stuck out his tongue and wagged his tail wildly.

"Yes, I missed you, Feliz." Helena knelt down to embrace the dog. _Feliz? The word for happy…_When Helena released it, the dog eyed Carlo. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite…but I brought a few obnoxious, annoying and some mean people here and Feliz will not even attempt to go within 5 meters of the person."

"Oh, great. He'll stay 5 meters away from me." Carlo said, exasperated as he shut the door. Helena led the dog to the living room and Carlo sat on the black divan. "Alright, Feliz. Go and meet Carlo. Don't bite him." Helena left them for a while.

Feliz stared at Carlo for a moment. His aura was of calm, unlike his mistress, who was fiery and straightforward. Feliz walked up to him, feeling no apprehension of meeting the man. Carlo put on a nervous smile and patted the dog's head. "That's a good boy." He said, with an unfamiliar accent. He wagged his tail and looked at his other master the way a student would look up to a brilliant mentor. But without warning…

"OOOOOWWWW!" Carlo's voice was heard from the upstairs. Helena had been opening the rooms and stocking up. She ran down and looked at the scene. Instead of finding it stupid, she found it hilarious.

Feliz was licking Carlo on his face and neck. Carlo seemed annoyed. "Feliz!" Helena called out. The dog stopped licking Carlo, who was now on the floor. "What did he do that for?" Carlo asked, obviously pissed. "He likes you…A LOT. Go and take a nice warm shower, Carlo. Have a good rest." "If you call me Patrick here in the house, it will be alright with me too…"

"Okay, Patrick. Enjoy your sleep." Helena said, as Feliz headed to his basket near the living room table.

Patrick took a warm shower, letting everything melt away in the water. All his troubles…his pain…everything. When he was done, he carefully pulled out a bathrobe from the cabinets and wore it. He went to his room yet he did not bother to turn on the light.

The scant moonlight from the balcony was enough to guide his path. He knelt beside his bed and said a short prayer before opening the window and letting the cool breeze in. He lay down on the bed, soft yet firm pillows cradling his head.

He fell asleep immediately. This night would be one of many without the dreaded nightmares which haunted him during the 15 days of preparing for Conclave.

Without disturbing Patrick, the door opened, revealing Helena in light blue and white-striped pajamas. Feliz was at her feet, also gazing at the sleeping priest. She could tell immediately that he was a heavy sleeper, eyes shut completely and breathing deeply. She smiled then led her dog away as she shut the door.

_I've never seen a priest like him: quite modern, a bit crazy and sometimes even humorous. Am I doing the right thing? I'll find out soon. I don't know why, but he's distracting. It's either that Irish--or is it Scottish—accent of his or his looks. I won't deny it. He could've been the Vatican's poster boy._

Helena heard a soft bark. Feliz was looking at her quite skeptically since she had stood motionless for a time. "Sorry, Feliz. I was just thinking. Come on, let's go to sleep." She said sheepishly.

* * *

End of Chapter 2…tell me what you think. Thanks!

-TDYSG


	3. Piazza Navona

Here's the third chapter for you. I hope you will find it to your enjoyment. I'm somehow trying to straighten out the personalities of the characters here. I hope you found the dog okay. Prepare yourselves for a somehow long chapter.

**The-Cursed-Daughter**: I guess I made him a bit too "human". I'll try to straighten out my portrayal of the camerlengo here using my knowledge of both the book and the movie. I'm taking your advice. Thanks. =)

**Annax1031**: Well, thank you for remarking that it is funny, but there will be parts that the story will either be action-packed or shocking. For one thing, I know that humor was one thing A&D sorely needed. Oh well, it is the job of a dog to make any human's day. I'm glad you liked Feliz.

**Inesika8**: Thanks again for the review. The dog was based on my grandmother's pet, a really hyper one…as well as a video I saw on YouTube about a beard-biting puppy.

It is well understood that I don't own anything here.

* * *

Chapter 3: Piazza Navona

Heavy steps echoed through the halls of the Apostolic Palace. The owner of these steps scratched his eyes indefinitely, wondering why he was called so early in the morning. Glancing at his black wristwatch, it said 4:30 a.m. _Why was I called at a time like this? _He was the youngest of the Swiss Guards but he had seen more than enough action this week, and he was not ready to get into any more for the time being.

A metal plaque hung above the huge doors, gleaming as if to tell the young guard that he had come to the right place: _L'ufficio del Papa_. He rapped at the door softly and waited.

A thought suddenly came into his mind while he ran his fingers through his light hair. He remembered the tired yet committed voice which resounded through these walls a few weeks ago. Whenever anyone would knock, they would hear this young man clear, well-projected and convicted: _"Avanti."_

When the knocker opens the doors, he will not just be overwhelmed by the sun-drenched view of St. Peter's Square and the elegant room which opens up before him. He would actually be more stunned when he sees the priest writing and fixing papers furiously on the Pope's desk. His brown hair would be combed back, shining in the afternoon sun; his green eyes would look at you with exhaustion overpowered by unpretentious warmth. No, of course he wasn't the Pope. He was too young. That man sitting there in a well-fitting black cassock was none other than the camerlengo.

This guard had always admired him even as a relative newcomer in the Vatican. He was very modern, in-touch with ordinary people, with the ability to catch you off-guard with disarming words of wisdom beyond his years. He had seen him at Mass and he could notice the ladies staring at the priest.

He may have known the truth, but somehow, he still felt some admiration for the clergyman. Even the horrid things he had done a few nights ago were nothing compared to his explanation of the "omnipotent-benevolent thing" which he could not understand. No priest could explain it that well to him.

Lieutenant Chartrand remembered that he was not there anymore. He may never see the former camerlengo again. He might never understand another difficult religious text again. He was awakened from his soliloquy by the soft, aged voice of the new Pope: the former Cardinal Mortati. He had taken the name Paul VII.

"Avanti!" the Pope called for the third time. Chartrand was shaken and mentally reprimanded himself for not paying attention.

He opened the massive wooden doors and walked silently, leaving the door closed in his wake. He hung his head low as the Pope looked at him with questioning eyes. "Why, Chartrand, you only went in when I said it the third time."

"It was inattentive of me, Your Holiness. Please, forgive me." He said, as the Pope held out his hand to offer Chartrand a seat. Chartrand sat down. "Were you thinking of something a while ago that you seemed disoriented?"

"Yes, Your Holiness." He admitted. "What was it all about?"

"Your Holiness, I was thinking about the camerlengo. I was used to seeing him here in this same office, at this desk. I only realized that he is not here anymore." The young, blonde Swiss Guard said, refusing to look at His Holiness' eyes, fearing disappointment.

The Pope let out a sigh and put down his pen. "It is quite something to get used to. Patrick, God bless his soul, was probably the most hardworking and most eloquent Papal chamberlain I've ever known. How it shocked me that he would do those things…" the _Pontifex Maximus_ cut his own sentence.

"Yes, the camerlengo is the reason I asked you to report to me at this hour. Forgive me for this. As you know, the Swiss Guard has been sweeping the whole Vatican to find any trace of Father McKenna, but we have not found anything. We do not believe that he _ascended_ into heaven. Since you seem to know him better than any of the others, I am sending you to look for him around Rome."

Chatrand's face almost became as pale as his hair. He almost slumped on his seat upon hearing what the Holy Father said. "Father…why me…I…can't find him…in such a big city…alone." He stuttered in his speech.

"I don't wish a whole patrol of guards to find him. We do not want to publicize the search. As for his acts, we are thinking of excommunicating him. If you are ready, you may begin today, but you can stay in Rome for a maximum of four hours. We don't want the _Polizia di Stato_ and the _Carabinieri _thinking of other things. Do you have any questions?" the senior man looked at him kindly.

"I just have to look like some ordinary civilian and not look like I'm looking for a terrorist, right, _signore_?" "Yes. You may go now." Chatrand kissed the Pope's hand before going. _God help me.

* * *

_

_God has big plans for you, Patrick…_

_He sighed after hearing this. "That's what I thought before…but now…I realize that when I thought of myself as the Hope, I was actually the greatest human Horror."_

_He lifted his head to see fleeting white clouds set against a cerulean sky, forming a pathway towards a wrought golden gate flung open. The sun was over these masses of clouds, glowing yellow._

"_What am I doing here? I'm already dead?" Patrick asked himself, walking carefully to the open gate. Beyond that gate, he saw a familiar silhouette, her dark hair flying in the wind, a white robe billowing. Great white wings spread forth, delicate feathers floating towards him. Her head was adorned by a diaphanous golden glow._

Mother…is that you? My Maria benedetta? But her hair should be brown…not…black! _He thought… He finally had the courage to speak as he walked towards her and held her by the shoulder. "Mother…is that you?"_

_The figure turned around to meet his eyes. The eyes he saw were not green…they were a light, glowing brown. "I'm sorry, Father. I'm not your mother." The apparent angel said to him, giving him a sad smile._

_The features of the person made Patrick jolt. "HELENA?! You're dead too?" "Dead? Father Patrick McKenna, it's either the butane got to your brain, or the Swiss Guards gave you too much morphine." She laughed, obviously amused._

"_Then…why am I here?" she held his cheek and said, "You still dream of things from time to time…it's time to wake up. The real world calls you."_

Patrick's eyes flung open. "It was just a dream." He said. He got up and folded the sheets, making the bed. He looked around the room, since he had not bothered to look at it the night before. The room was airy and somehow spacious, only a bit smaller than his room in the Papal apartments.

The walls seemed at first a spotless white, but he saw black curlicues radiating from the corners like vines on tendrils. He thought they were pretty creative. Upon entering the door, the first thing to be noticed was the bright sun peering from the large window panes. Beside the window was a door leading to a small balcony made of wrought iron. From outside, the door seemed camouflaged with the red brick façade of the apartment to deter burglars.

The wooden headboard of his bed was backed against the wall, the bed itself parallel to the window. The bed was a bit high, making it easier to vacuum underneath. At the right of the bed was a small table, a simple lampshade on top. The other side had a bookshelf which reached up to Patrick's shoulders. On top of it, held by a stand, was a copy of the Bible, opened to the story of the Resurrection.

Across the bed, there was a table and a chair. On top of the table was a plain black mug which held a few pens and pencils. Besides a part of the wall near the bedside table, there were also electrical outlets near the study. A plain oval mirror hung near the table.

Almost beside the lampshade's abode was an armoire made of dark wood, contrasting with the muted white and silver tones. His black duffel bag sat in front of it. He had decided not to put anything in the cabinet, knowing that he only had a few clothes. Near another corner of the room was the door, and upon seeing it, he decided to go out.

As he exited his room, he saw Feliz in front of him, waiting for him. "Good morning, Feliz." He said, going on one knee and scratching the dog's head. Feliz wagged his tail and barked. He ran down the stairs. Before going down the stairs, Patrick saw three more doors in the second floor.

The dining room was adjacent to a spotless kitchen, still following the white, silver and black motif of the house. The dining room had a 6-seater table, its chairs with metal legs like the table. Helena sat on one of these, wearing the uniform of a _Polizia di Stato_: black shirt with long sleeves, with a thin white sash from the left shoulder to the right hip, gray trousers and shiny leather boots. Her shoulder pads were black, with red, with two golden pentagrams under the symbol of the police. Her hat was on the table.

She took off her eyes from the newspaper when she saw Feliz walking towards her. "Good morning, Feliz. I see you've fetched Patrick. Good boy." She pointed to his dish, already filled with food. "Enjoy your breakfast."

"Good morning, Helena." The priest said. She folded the newspaper and saw the former camerlengo stand in the doorway, seemingly startled. "Don't mind the uniform, Patrick. Come and eat." Helena said, a smile replacing her serious features.

Patrick sat down beside her, saying grace, then pouring coffee into his cup and looking into the dark brown porridge-like substance in a deep bowl. "What is this?" he said, apprehensive to use his spoon and dig into it.

"It's called _champorado_. Rice cooked in cocoa powder…or melted chocolate. Filipinos eat this either as breakfast or snack. I didn't make it too sweet, don't worry. It's kind of thick, though. Loosen it with some milk. It's like eating chocolate oatmeal. Since you're drinking coffee, I guess it would balance the taste." Helena said, pointing to the milk carton.

"It never hurts to try, I guess." Patrick said, pouring some milk in. He stirred the mixture until the color became a lighter brown. He scooped up some with his spoon and placed it in his mouth. After a while of trying to decode the flavor, he swallowed it with gusto.

"It's delicious. Now I have an excuse to have chocolate for breakfast." He said, giving her that open-jawed grin. "Just don't feed any of that to Feliz. You'll kill him. I'm happy that you enjoy eating this stuff."

"Now…onto the serious stuff…you know that I'm a police officer, so I can't orient you with everything since I'm really busy. I just posted a list of things you need to know on the fridge. I leave at around 6:30, which is about a half-hour from now and I come home at around 8. Mondays to Fridays, I am at the station. Sometimes I have duties on Saturdays, but it's sure that I'm free on Sundays. On Sundays, I go to the church of Sant'Agnese in Agone…just behind the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi…the center of Piazza Navona."

Patrick was listening, but he kept stuffing his mouth with _champorado_ as well, downing it with a few sips of coffee from time to time.

"As for Feliz, he needs to take a walk at least 30 minutes every day. I trained him the way the police did for its K-9 units, except I did so in a less rigid manner. He doesn't bite strangers unless they're mean. His food is in the kitchen cabinets. He prefers going around the piazza when it comes to walking. His leash is beside the sack containing his food."

He had finished his breakfast while she talked. "Alright…I understand. Don't worry about the housekeeping. I know how to vacuum and clean, arrange some materials. I used to cook when I was younger…but since living in the Vatican, I haven't used the skill much. I'm already thinking of writing a letter to the Holy Father for my dispensation…and if necessary, excommunication."

Helena almost spat out the coffee she was drinking when she heard the last sentence. "You'd agree to your own excommunication?" she blurted out. "If it is supposed to happen…you know what I've done." "Alright, then…who am I to stop you?"

Neither of them talked. Not even Feliz stirred, until Patrick broke the silence. "Let's forget about that for now. I'm thinking of taking a job, so that I don't have to always depend on you." "Make sure you won't get into trouble. Oh, by the way, you don't need to clean up the whole house every day, once a week will do. I just did so yesterday morning, reporting late to work."

He nodded, ready to face the day, but of course, not after another serving of _champorado_ and munching some fruit.

Helena left at 6:25, bidding him and Feliz goodbye. She was resplendent in uniform, as she drove to the police station.

* * *

She entered her place of work. On the front were officers receiving multiple phone calls and other employees receiving feeds from computers and monitoring through CCTV's. Everyone waved at her, as well as those who passed her by. She responded with a smile.

"Helena!" a shrill voice echoed through the station. Helena's patrol-duty partner came running towards her. She was 5'6", two inches shorter than her partner, with short, jagged light brown hair and wide-open hazel eyes. Her nose was aquiline but her lips were ribbon-thin. She was pure Italian.

_Ahhh…Bella Angela Moretti. My best friend. Without her, I don't know how I will survive in this line of work._ Helena thought, grateful for knowing this person.

"Bella!" she replied. They gave each other a high-five as they walked to their desks in the station. Both were Inspectors of the police force.

"You think we're going to be on patrol duty again, Len?" "We're taught to obey orders, Bel, not make our own. Whatever the _commissario_ says, we do. Everyone in this station knows that Commissioner Marino has a disliking to me." "Speak of the devil…" Bella said, hushing Helena as they saw someone coming.

He was tall, but not too tall that Bella did not need to crane her neck to see him. His hair was black, with a few flecks of gray. His eyes were deep and somehow intimidating. He was wearing a coat and tie, strutting as if he owned the very police station. He looked at the two officers with a bit of a sneer.

Now about the commissioner disliking Inspector Gallego, it all started when she came to the police force after a few years with the Philippine National Police. She had been of excellent character and skills, so they decided to send her to the _Polizia di Stato_.

Though she was a diligent and committed law enforcer, she was clumsy and a bit too curious at times. She was also very straightforward and never hesitated to question anything, even with authorities.

"_Gallego, get me some coffee. My secretary is late again." He told her in Italian. "With sugar and cream?" Helena asked flatly. "Black." He answered her, as if mimicking her disinterested voice._

_After 2 minutes, she returned with a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. She walked to his table when suddenly; the heel of her shoe was tangled in the carpet. She stumbled forward as she tried to get it loose, spilling the coffee on the papers on his desk, as well as staining the commissioner's favorite white dress shirt and black tie._

"_I am sorry, sir." Her eyes glowered as she took out her handkerchief and started wiping everything, but to no avail. She could almost see the devil in front of her as the commissioner's face turned red. "GET OUT!" he screamed. "And if I see you again today, I might…"_

"_Whatever you're thinking of, you have no right to do that. My offense is minor in comparison to what other policemen do. Some of them even salvage people without respect for human rights. This police force, as I found out, has a mediocre human rights record. So it is with ours back home. It's expected of us…we're a developing country, sir. But more is expected from a police force of a developed nation."Helena said, turning around and looking at the commissioner._

_For the first time in his 10 years of being a police commissioner, Simon Francisco Marino was silenced by a lower-ranking officer. He was dumbfounded. Nobody had ever done that to him, especially not a female police officer who graduated from a foreign police academy._

"_Just…just go." He said. She gave him a salute, still giving even a shred of respect to her superior. When she closed the door, he sighed deeply. Yes, he disliked her for her clumsiness and for some of her rebuttals in the past, but he had respect for her. He just wouldn't admit that she had the potential to be better than him._

Of course, they learned how to work without putting a personal touch in it. Commissioner Marino had always been stern and overbearing and Helena was innately critical but neither of them referenced to past events to avoid arguments.

They both gave him a customary salute. "Since it's the last day of the working week, you're both still on patrol. On Monday, you'll both do paperwork, which I believe Inspector Gallego enjoys." He spun on his heels and left without even allowing them to respond.

"At least, we'll do something else on Monday. Let's load up and go, Bella." Helena said, walking to her desk and taking out a gun.

* * *

Patrolling the Eternal City was more of a leisurely walk than a chore, since Rome was a sight for the sore eyes of a weary city-dweller and a goldmine for art lovers. Crime rate was somehow low but great care was needed in guarding the numerous tourist spots which dotted the metropolis. After the incidents on the night of Conclave, there had been a surge in the tourist arrivals.

Bella and Helena were on patrol in an area near the Vatican. They were walking a stone's throw away from Castel Sant'Angelo when a tourist suddenly tapped Bella's shoulder. They both looked back at the short, stout tourist with hair dyed a wild orange. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes, we do. What is your query, sir?" Helena said. "Uh…how do I get to the Vatican?" he said, the accent unmistakably American. "You have a map, sir, have you checked it?" Bella said, rolling her eyes discreetly. "Actually I don't know if I'm on the right road because I've been walking towards that direction for hours and hours." He pointed to the east, pointing to the direction of Piazza Navona.

"Well, I'm sorry, sir, but that is not the direction you're looking for. Look there. Do you recognize that sight?" Bella asked, pointing to a massive dome seen even in the narrow street to the west.

"St. Peter's Basilica! So…I'll just walk straight ahead, right?" he said, with the excitement of a child. "Yes, sir…just a reminder, shorts are not allowed in the Vatican, so I suggest you change into pants. But if you're so stubborn, the Swiss Guard might not let you enter St. Peter's. Don't say I didn't warn you." Helena said, looking down at the man's khaki shorts.

"Well, uh, thanks, officers. What do you call this big structure here near us? After visiting the Vatican, I'm thinking of seeing this one too." He said, looking at the large edifice. "Castel Sant'Angelo, sir…the Church of Illumination, as we recently found out." Bella said.

"Alright, thanks again. Hope I see you around, ladies." He said, winking at both of them. As soon as he disappeared into the scenery, Helena cringed. Bella was snickering. "Was he hitting on us?" Helena asked, disgusted by the thought. "I wouldn't take him even if he was the last man alive." Bella said. Laughing, they walked around more.

* * *

That afternoon, Patrick was lying down on the black divan, placing the newspaper on the table. _It's been almost a week since it happened…but my face is still on the headlines. Good grief._ He had done the dishes, gave Feliz a bath, tried to look for a job via the classified ads.

Feliz was sitting down beside the divan, barking intermittently. As if from impatience, he stuck his cold nose on Patrick's arm, as if asking for something. "Yes, Feliz? Oh, of course. You want to walk. Wait here. I'll just dress up and get your leash."

The former chamberlain went up the stairs and entered his room. He wore a plain white shirt and gray jeans under a thin black jacket. He wore his new sneakers and went in front of the mirror to style his hair with spikes. Patrick was vain to an extent, and the people in the Holy See would joke about it.

When he was satisfied with his appearance, he went down and took the house keys from hooks in the stairs. He took out Feliz's leash and tied him gently with it. He made sure the house would be safe before he and the dog set off to walk.

A short brunette lady accidentally dropped a coin and it almost entered the sewer, had it not been for a quick hand that caught it in time. "Here you go, miss." The woman looked at him closely. With his spiky brown hair, intense verdant eyes, soft, gently-molded features and an angel's voice, she almost melted that very moment.

She was so struck by the stranger that she did not notice the coin placed on her palm. The man was gone.

Patrick was not aware that the lady was almost drooling over him as he got her coin back. He was even wondering why the woman seemed like she was turning into jelly. Whether from one side of the street or another, people would always look at him, man or woman, child or adult. _Why is everyone staring at me? Do they recognize me?_ He was uneasy when it came to attention. Feliz seemed to share his annoyance, since dogs were staring at him too.

Upon seeing the Fountain of Four Rivers, Feliz ran and jumped, poising himself on the fountain's ledge. The priest sat beside him, scratching the dog's head. "You definitely like it here, eh, Feliz?"

Patrick looked at Feliz and remembered an anecdote of his childhood. He also had a dog in the monastery.

_Patrick loved waking up early to accompany a monk in opening the doors of the monastery. The monk was a lanky young man who acted like a brother to the then 10-year old Patrick. It had rained for the past few days so the doors had remained closed. They opened the great pieces of wood, allowing the sunlight to enter._

_As the monk looked at the sun-drenched pastoral scene in front of the monastery, Patrick noticed something curled up on the ground. "Brother John, look at this." The orphan said, tugging at the brown robe of his companion._

_The curled bundle was covered in mud, lying stationary on the wet ground. "Poor thing…it must have been looking for shelter last night." The monk wiped the mud off the creature to see what kind of animal it was. "It's a puppy."_

_Patrick had naturally large green eyes, but his eyes became as big as saucers that very moment. "CAN I KEEP HIM?" he asked. "Well…uh…I don't think the bishop would allow this one. He seems very weak…and he'll just mess up the monastery."_

_Patrick folded his hands as if in prayer and looked at the monk with his patented "pleading face". He had always looked like a perfect little angel, an advantage he carried into adulthood. His face matured with time, without losing his boyish charm._

_Brother John could not, and would never resist that face. He was always completely disarmed by the child. "Alright…but we'll ask the bishop if you could let him stay. Do you want to name it?" he asked Patrick, who was beaming with joy. "Since we found him on the day the rain stopped…I'll name him…Rain! Now, come on, Rain…let's clean you up."_

……………………

_The other monks were amused to see Patrick followed around by a puppy with golden brown fur, large eyes, floppy ears and an always-wagging tail. The boy led his dog to a massive door at the end of the corridor. He knocked three times. "Come in." a warm voice came from inside._

_He opened the door and found his "father" (he found out later that the title was literal) putting down his pen as he saw his "son". "What have you come here for, Patrick?" "Brother John and I opened the door this morning and we saw this poor puppy. Can I keep him?" he asked, carrying the puppy and showing it to the bishop._

"_Patrick, I hope you know that having a pet is a big responsibility. You have to feed him, bathe him and keep him happy. Are you ready to take on that job?" "Yes, father!" the bishop rumpled the boy's hair and bade him to run along._

…………………

_Patrick and Rain were almost always together, except when Patrick was studying, but when it came to eating, playing around, watching the monks in the garden and sleeping, they were joined at the hip. The other monks also enjoyed the company of this dog, especially Brother John, who took care of Rain when Patrick was studying._

_Unfortunately, this happiness wouldn't last long, and it came in the form of another rainy day._

_Brother John and Patrick were closing the monastery's massive gate. "It wouldn't close…there must be something on the hinges. Patrick, look for anything wrong with it." The boy obliged. He saw Rain near him. "What are you doing here, Rain? You'll get sick. Go back inside." The dog whimpered, complaining._

"_Brother John, I found something!" Patrick said, seeing a protruding object stuck on the hinge. It was a twig. He threw it to the muddy road before pushing the gate closed. As the twig flew, Rain suddenly ran after it._

"_Rain, no! You're not supposed to fetch it!"Patrick yelled, running outside to get the puppy back inside. He was running towards the dog when he saw a bright light from the side. "NOOOO!" he screamed, almost trying to stop the car. Brother John saw him and restrained him, in fear that Patrick might get run over._

_The car stopped for a while, but trailed off again. The driver didn't seem to care about the boy who fell on his knees on the mud, crying over a dead puppy hit by his vehicle. _

_He shed silent tears as Brother John bade him stand up and take the dead animal inside. One of the monks made a makeshift wooden coffin for the dog, while another cleaned up Rain's wounds and wiped the blood. They all agreed that Rain was to be buried when the sun shines again._

_The bishop found out about the dog's death and felt sorry for Patrick. He sat with the child as he cried in his room. "Father…why did he have to die?" "God allows us to experience these things so that we may become stronger, Patrick. He was also showing you that we have to let go…"_

"_So…where's Rain now?" "Rain is in good hands now…if there's a heaven for animals, I believe he's already there." The bishop said, smiling. "I hope so."_

_The next day, Rain was buried under a great oak tree in the monastery. His name was carved on a small stone and erected as his gravestone. Patrick put a bunch of colorful flowers on the grave. "God, my father…take care of Rain."_

Patrick was awakened from his reminiscing when a girl tugged on the edge of his jacket. She was a short, slightly chubby child, wearing a checkered schoolgirl's uniform. Her dirty blonde hair was in pigtails. She had honey-colored eyes which appeared so innocent.

"_Scusarmi, il signore. ..I ha perso la mia mamma. Lei può aiutarmi la trova?_ (Excuse me, mister...I lost my mommy. Can you help me find her?)" the child asked. Patrick knew how to speak in Italian, only he spoke with a rough accent, due to his Irish lineage.

"_Bene. ..what fa somiglia a?_ (Alright...what does she look like?)" He looked at her and felt pity. She looked disoriented by the huge world around her.

"_È un pezzetto breve; anche con i talloni, la sua testa raggiunge fino al suo collo. Ha dei capelli come il mio, solo legato in un'alta coda di cavallo. Indossa quei grandi occhiali. Indossa un maglione bianco col collo alto, una giacca sportiva di panna ed annerisce i jeans. Indossa delle scarpe rosse._ (She's a bit short; even with heels, her head reaches up to your neck. She has hair like mine, only tied in a high ponytail. She wears those large eyeglasses. She's wearing a white turtleneck sweater, a cream blazer and black jeans. She's wearing red shoes.)" she said, stopping after almost every sentence to remember what her mother looked like.

"_Buono che lei ricorda che indossa. Potrei sapere il suo nome_? (Good that you remember what she's wearing. May I know your name?)" he asked, tugging Feliz's leash.

"_La mia mamma mi ha detto di non di parlare agli stranieri. La dirò appena quando la troviamo_. (My mommy told me not to talk to strangers. I'll just tell you when we find her.)" she told him, smiling.

"_Approvazione. La troviamo._ (Okay. Let's find her.)" he said, leading Feliz with him and the girl. "Excuse me, little one, can you speak English?" Patrick asked, since he didn't want to give the girl a hard time in understanding what he said.

"Yes…but not so much. Don't use big words please." She said. _SHE COULD SPEAK ENGLISH?! Calm down, Patrick, at least you practiced your Italian. You're going to need it._ He thought, calming himself down.

"Does he bite?" the girl asked, pointing to Feliz. "No…he's just grumpy when there's a mean person around." Patrick raised his eyes and looked around the many people who walked by the _Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi_.

Feliz suddenly barked and pointed his nose somewhere. Patrick looked at Feliz then followed his nose. He saw a blonde lady wearing glasses who seemed to be looking for something important, as he saw in her worried eyes. "Little girl, look at that lady there…is that your mother?"

But when he looked at her, she had run over the woman. He walked towards the rejoicing pair. "Mamma, this is the guy who helped me find you." She said, gesturing to Patrick. "Thank you so much for bringing my daughter back to me. May I know your name?"

"It's Carlo." He said, using the codename for the first time. "Mm…Carlo. I'm Lucia…and this is my daughter Chiara. If you live here, this is the first time we've seen you. I hope we'll see you again sometime. It was a pleasure meeting you." "So it was with you, Lucia. Hold on to your mother, Chiara and be careful. Don't get lost again, okay?" he said, looking at both mother and daughter with his stunning eyes.

"Yes, Carlo. Thanks!" He gave them a wave and turned away, Feliz following him. Mother and daughter sighed as he walked away. "I wish he was my daddy." "Same here…" Lucia said.

Patrick and Feliz strolled down the grand piazza and looked around its quaint shops. One of them caught Patrick's eyes. _L'eden di Pagine…hmmm…Eden of Pages…so it's a bookshop. Wait…_ He saw a large piece of paper posted on the closed door: "Help wanted. At least high school graduate, with good organizing and cash handling skills. Apply inside. Come tomorrow if you wish."

_This is easy compared to all those things I had to arrange and deliver at the Vatican. Tomorrow, I am going to get this job!_ "Come on, Feliz, we're going home." He said, looking at the husky.

* * *

She was near home at 6:55. The sun was still in the sky, but ready to set anytime soon. Helena was forced to park her car in another street since her street was full. As she walked to her apartment building, she met one of her neighbors, a petite brunette, carrying Starbucks coffee. "Helena! Have you met the new guy in our street?" she asked her as Helena gave a smile. "New guy? Who on earth do you mean by that, Angela?" Helena asked, suddenly puzzled.

"He was walking a Siberian husky which looked like yours this morning. He's about five-foot-ten…spiky brown hair, icy blue-green eyes...I'm sure he's not Italian! He picked up something I almost dropped into the sewers." she said, sighing. Helena just stared at her without looking annoyed. "Good for you, then. I hope I could also meet him." She said, as Angela waved and she started walking.

_I think I know whom she's talking about. Oh well, Father Chick Magnet should start getting used to A LOT of attention. Oh, it's Lucia and Chiara. I wonder what mother and daughter have been up to._

"Lucia! Chiara!" she called after them, seeing a blonde pair strolling towards the residential area. Both seemed to be laughing. Friday nights like these were always dedicated for mother-daughter bonding since Lucia's divorce.

"Helena! We haven't been seeing you in a while. You're still gorgeous as ever, aren't you?" Lucia said, touching Helena's shoulder with her small, soft hand. The inspector blushed, smiling widely. "Thank you…and how have you been?"

"Very well…Chiara's doing well in school. She almost got lost this afternoon in the Piazza. Well, you know Chiara…very curious." Lucia said, rumpling her daughter's hair.

"It's good that you were found, Chiara. You know how dangerous the streets can be, especially when you're alone. How _did_ you find your way back?" Helena said, almost kneeling on the pavement to talk directly to Chiara.

"I was asking everyone near that water-spouting thing if they could help me find my mommy…but they didn't listen. That's when I saw an angel sitting by the…the…ah…fountain! And he had a big, friendly dog with him." The little girl narrated.

"Angel? What did this "angel" look like?" Helena asked, again puzzled. "Well…for one thing he didn't have wings…but the sun was shining was on his head, as if there was that big yellow circle on it." Chiara said, demonstrating the halo part.

"Go on, Chiara. Tell Helena the rest." Lucia said, prodding her. "And…we were looking for mommy…and then we saw her almost running around and looking for me…and there you go! I wish he were my daddy."

"He did say he was new here. He looks like one of those models on a GQ cover…well-groomed, with expressive eyes…a great smile…and that queer but cool accent! I think he said his name was Carlo." Lucia said, smiling deviously.

"Hmmm…odd name for a foreigner…enjoy your mother-daughter bonding night!" Helena said, waving and walking a few more steps. As she stood at the porch of her flat, she took out her keys and smiled before opening the door. _The next thing I know, he has a fan club in Piazza Navona._ She gave a snicker before opening the door.

* * *

Helena was surprised to smell something cooking as she went inside. She immediately entered the dining room, seeing Feliz eating dog food from his bowl. She scratched his head before putting her bag down on the floor. As she stood, she saw the table set for two and a man carrying a large saucepan with something soupy inside.

"Good evening, Patrick. Whatever you cooked, I feel like eating it. It smells great." She said, washing her hands in the kitchen faucet. "Oh, thank you. Please, do sit and eat." He put down the saucepan on the table together with a small basket of bread.

Helena sat across him and saw that the content of the saucepan was a steaming soup of lentils with beef in tomato sauce. She was about to scoop up some for her bowl when she remembered that they should say grace first.

After doing so, Patrick scooped up some for her, then some for herself. "How was your day?" he asked her, breaking the bread into smaller pieces. "I spent it going around Rome for patrol. A tourist tried to hit on me and my partner. Otherwise, it was okay. How about you?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"I went around Piazza Navona with Feliz. He seems to like walking around there. People were staring at me all the time as if I were some celebrity. There was this woman who almost dropped her coin into the drain…and a child who lost her mother. Thank God we found her…she looked quite scared. The girl's name was Chiara…and the mother…Lucia." He said, giving an impish grin.

"So I heard. I met up with Angela…Chiara and Lucia…and from what they told me, I believe you're going to be famous here. Why, you seem to have melted them into puddles of syrup!" Helena said, amused.

Patrick blushed for a long while, almost becoming the same color as his lentil soup. "I was just helping them…I don't think you need to look at a hero's face before letting him save you." He said.

"Hey…you know, I think that you're a really nice guy. Just keep that up…and it also helps that you seem to give off an aura of calm. I'll be honest…you're really charming, you know that? Otherwise, Lucia and Angela wouldn't have gushed about you when they saw me."

"If you mean that as a compliment…thank you." he said, still red. They conversed a lot during suppertime.

Later that night, after taking a shower, the former camerlengo was writing something in his room. The lights were open and he was thinking while tapping his pen on the table. He had spent about 2 hours writing and proofreading his request of a dispensation from the Vatican.

He kept putting strikethroughs on a few phrases when he was annoyed, and heavily edited the erasures. The paper he was writing on looked more like an array of lines than a letter. He heard a knock on the door. "Come in." he said, far from the tone he used in the papal office.

Helena came in, walking behind him and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations on finishing that letter. Go to sleep now, Patrick. Goodnight." She left silently, the only sound heard was the faint closing of the door.

_Thank you for your concern…I should sleep. My eyes are heavy now.

* * *

_

Third chapter's done! I'm looking forward to writing the next one this weekend.

-TDYSG


	4. History

Again, I would like to thank my reviewers. Your reviews really keep me going. I would also like to thank those who put this story on their Favorites and Alerts. As a sign of my appreciation, I bring to you the fourth chapter.

**Ranayana: **I do bring out a bit of the OOC-ness of a certain person at times, but I keep it on track.

**Annax1031: **Hmm…sounds like a good idea! Well, if you have someone whose looks could stop traffic, it might be hard not to mind.

* * *

Chapter 4: History

"Are you _**sure**_ you don't want that _**encoded**_?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She was looking at the half-written letter on top of a wooden table. It was a sheet of short typewriting paper, adorned with trails of ink. Knowing the minor burns on the writer's hand, she knew that the already-elegant script could be better.

"Father Patrick McKenna, you know that with your injuries, it's hard to write. Why make a task harder? You know, you could have asked me to write this last night…" she said, looking at how the sunlight shone on his face and emphasized his gentle features. He turned around from the chair and looked at her, giving a humorless smile.

"They might not find it believable if that would happen. They know my handwriting, so they'll know this is real. I want to make sure that they wouldn't think I'm an impostor." Patrick said, as she shrugged. He turned back to writing the final copy of his letter, nearing the complimentary close.

"About the job you wanted to take…what kind of job is it? And where?" Helena asked. "I'm going to apply at a bookshop…the _L'eden di Pagine_…near the piazza." he said, as if excited at the idea.

She could not say another word when he went back to writing and signed the letter with his real name. The envelope was held in place by the black mug/penholder, with no return address, just the receiver's details.

"Why, is there anything wrong?" he said, folding the paper and turning to her. "No…in fact, that's the place where I buy my books." Helena said, with a hint of glee on her face. _If he gets the job...my cashier wouldn't be that disorganized and incompetent idiot who doesn't know that Jules Verne wrote Around the World in Eighty Days. Thank you, Mr. Franco for firing him._

He pulled the envelope and sealed it in. The envelope had double-sided adhesives on it (thankfully). This letter may have been written in stylish strokes, yet the message it carried was one of personal repentance, disappointment and a request of dispensation.

* * *

_Nine-thirty a.m._

Lieutenant Chartrand glanced at his black watch, as if he were waiting for something. Of course, he wasn't. He was sent to find someone, not to sightsee. But searching for a person in Rome would not be easy, especially with the sights which abound there.

He knew the physical appearance of the former camerlengo: five-foot-ten, with coarse brown hair, his eyes were green, intense and vibrant, yet never without warmth; he had a medium build, swaying a bit towards the slender side.

This description probably wouldn't be the same if ever he'd pass by the priest on the street. Chartrand suddenly found himself thinking as he walked. _For all I know, Father McKenna could have gone back to Ireland, or hid somewhere in Italy. He might have gotten himself red contact lenses…RED?! No…that's absurd…probably brown or blue. Any color would probably do for those eyes of his. He could have cut his hair…and dyed it…green and slathering on hair gel. He could look like a punk rocker for all I know! Oh my God, what am I thinking?_

He was scarred by the thought of Patrick dyeing his hair with the color of grass, turning it into a Mohawk and wearing red contact lenses. He almost didn't recognize the person formed by his imagination. _I should…just be more observant. I might see burn marks or whatever…or hear his voice. Yeah…that's it. It's better to think of that than dyeing your hair blue…and wearing women's clothes. WHY DO I EVEN HAVE THESE THOUGHTS?!_

If addressing his odd thoughts were not effective in calming him down, one thing was sure to do so. He pulled out a small white stick from his pocket, and lit it with a white lighter. _I need this. I have to calm down. It would make my search easier._ Soon as he turned to look at the path he was walking on, he could already see Castel Sant'Angelo in the distance. He wore his dark glasses and went on.

* * *

The letter had been mailed. Luckily, Patrick didn't get a long hard stare from the person who took the envelope. She seemed too bored to even look at the address, but once again, it could be attributed to the fact that she was staring at him.

Helena didn't even wonder. It was obvious in the glazed look in the post office employee's eyes. Her mouth could just spill saliva any second now. _Is he so unaware of what he could do to some women?_ She thought, as she saw him smile and turn towards her as they left. _No…he is not._

She had decided that they stroll around, while trying to know more about each other. It would also include Patrick going to the bookshop and getting a job. That was their next destination. The bookshop was near the alleyways, half-hidden from view.

Its façade matched the auburn bricks which composed the other buildings around the piazza. Its door still had the job vacancy announcement, and the window of the store was now displaying new titles.

Painted in white on the window were the words "L'eden di Pagine". This was it.

"Go on, Pa—Carlo. Go inside." Helena said, standing a few meters away. "You're not coming with me?" he asked, face etched with worry.

"You can handle this. I trust you. If he asks why you sound more English than Italian, just tell him you were raised in Scotland…Ireland or something. Go get it, Patrick." She said, giving him a small shove and a smile. She said the last word in a hushed tone. Looking back as he walked, he could see her baring her white teeth, amused. "Thank you for trusting me…" he said, barely a whisper as he held the knob of the varnished wood door in front of him.

* * *

Augusto Franco was looking at the piles of books scattered on the floor of his shop. He shook that gray head of his, hazel eyes rolling in annoyance. He looked at the interior of _L'eden di Pagine_ with a sigh.

When one enters the door, he would immediately see two enormous shelves facing each other, both backed on the walls. They were empty, since all their contents were on the floor. Besides the window at the front, there was another source of light, this time, beside the cashier's desk. This desk was more of a heavy wooden counter with a "door". Part of it was hinged, sealed by a small latch. The cash register seemed almost archaic, covered in gray dust. There was another bookcase behind the register, as well as a stool where the cashier could sit.

Beside the bookcase were two doors. The larger one was the back entrance, which still had a metal door behind it. The smaller one led to a bathroom.

The overall look of the place could remind one of an 18th century shop, with its interiors made of wood, and a few decorative pieces of porcelain and glass on the top shelf of the bookcase behind the cash register.

He carried the heavy pile of hardbound pieces to the cashier's counter, after looking back at the paper he had posted on the door. He was looking for someone good enough to look after his business. Just carrying a pile of books made him exhausted; he knew he was old. His last assistant must have come from hell. _Lorenzo Gabrielli_.

_His hair was black, slicked back, giving him that severe look. His skin was paler than most Italians. He had sunken cheeks and piercing, inky eyes. He was about 5'7" and quite gaunt. When I thought his serious look would also equate to an organized, yet warm and friendly personality, I was VERY VERY wrong._

_Children who entered the shop called him "scary". I could see him openly arguing with women and shooing customers out when he had mood swings. He did not sweep the floors or clean the shelves. He arranged the books by author, which was a good idea, but he ended up messing it when getting the book for the customer .I could not tolerate his behavior…I confronted him one day._

"_Lorenzo…no books have been sold over the previous weeks…and people are telling me that they find you obnoxious. If you're not--" I said, looking into his eyes, their expression unchanging. I was cut off when he opened the latch of the counter door and stomped his feet, marching towards the door. _

"_I'm sick of this stupid job! GO FIND YOURSELF ANOTHER CASHIER, __**OLD FART**__!" Lorenzo yelled, slamming the door in his wake. __**Nobody**__ had ever called me an __**old fart**__. If all he'd ever do was anger his customers and disappoint me, I regret hiring him in the first place. Hopefully, someone good would come._

Augusto heard the doorknob turn. _A customer? An applicant?_ As the heavy wooden door opened, beams of sunlight suddenly shot into the gloomy shop, as if the one who opened it came from heaven. A man came in, wearing a plain white shirt and dark jeans under a black sweater, with a pair of clean sneakers. The plainness of his getup brought attention to his gentle face, which was currently giving a shy smile.

"Good morning, sir. I'd like to apply for the job." The stranger said, as the old shop owner's jaw dropped in shock. Augusto did not mind the man's accent, which seemed to come from either Britain or Ireland.

"I am Augusto Franco, your to-be boss if ever I find you qualified. May I know your name?" Augusto asked, eyeing him from head to toe. "Carlo…Carlo Ventresca." He said, offering his hand. Augusto shook Carlo's hand; the young man's hands grip was firm. "For an Italian, you have a weird accent." "I was raised in Ireland, _signore_." The older man walked towards the counter, taking out a pen and paper.

"So, what experience do you have when it comes to books and paperwork?" Augusto asked, as he saw Carlo go over the titles of the books on the floor. _Das Kapital_ and _The Social Contract_ were side by side on the floor. "I used to bring, sort and do paperwork at a priest's office…and I cleaned up his shelves once in a while." Carlo said, lifting his eyes to look at the owner.

"Write down important things about yourself." Augusto held up a piece of typewriting paper and a ballpoint pen. Carlo walked towards the wooden counter and started writing. He had written his name, his birth date, Helena's address and phone number. He also wrote down his job experience, which was mostly involved with clergymen and churches.

Augusto read the legible words on the paper. He then turned to Carlo, whose features suddenly turned anxious. "Mister Ventresca…" he started, giving a subdued smile, "Yes, _signore_?" "You're hired." Carlo's face brightened up like a lamp, his eyes almost sparkling. He had an open-jawed grin which reminded Augusto of toothpaste endorsers.

"Well, with that smile of yours, you can draw in a lot of customers…but with that smile should come skill. You start on Monday, 8 a.m. I'll clean up this place but I'll keep the books in disarray. I want you to start thinking of an arrangement which will help a customer find a chosen book better." The elderly bibliophile said, reaching up a bit to squeeze Carlo's shoulder.

"Maybe I could help you clean up this place?" he asked, peeling off his black sweater. "No…no…don't worry about me." "Are you sure, _signore_?" "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you so much. I'm sure you'd be good. Just like the way you entered…I almost thought it was heaven outside."

"No, _signore_. Thank you." Carlo said, his words trailing behind him as he exited the bookshop with a smile.

* * *

She stood by a lamppost, legs crossed and leaning towards it. She wore a black trenchcoat-style dress, its sleeves reaching above her elbow. Her shoes were like loafers with inch-high heels. Standing out was the wide red belt around her waist, breaking the monotony of a single color. The inky waves on her head were tied into a ponytail, with a few strands hanging near her ear. Her brown eyes were fixed on the smiling man who just came out of a bookshop. The sun just loved putting the spotlight on him.

"I got the job!" he said, running to her and embracing her. She was almost suffocated by his arms tightly wrapped around her. But like those awkward realization moments in movies, Patrick suddenly broke off the embrace. "Oh my…I'm so sorry. I was just so…forget that I embraced you." He said, timidly placing his hands in his pockets.

"Why are you apologizing? Though I was shocked, you have all the right to do that. You're happy, you achieved something…it's alright." Helena asked, her shocked expression replaced by a reassuring smile. "Well, since I'm still a priest, technically…I uh…you know what I mean." He said, twiddling with his thumbs.

"I understand…shall we walk?" she asked him, her open hand gesturing towards the road ahead of them. He nodded, his embarrassment wavering. The old buildings hovered above them, still bearing their ancient pride. Rome was rightly named the Eternal City, even its ruins surviving time's often cruel consequences.

"So, Carlo, do you know your way around the city?" Helena asked, the question quite random. "Yes, I know my way around…but I did get lost…luckily I found myself back to my _**residence**_." He paused for a while.

"Actually, I enjoyed getting lost. I was lost in the glory of history, not like places where both people and places are unfamiliar… Helena, you told me that you were a Filipino. What was it like back in your hometown?" Patrick asked.

"It's quite different from Rome. The river snaking around the metropolis is probably 10 times dirtier than the Tiber, a lot of slums near creeks, some people begging outside churches but it isn't all poverty. Outside the city are better sights: mountains, beaches, caves, lakes and the like. People back home may live with inadequacy but they're happy anyway. Families are close-knit, friends are always there." Helena explained, becoming nostalgic at the thought of her home country.

Patrick looked ahead and saw a bench a few steps away from where they were walking. It was made of wrought iron, painted black, almost spotless, as if nobody had sat on it before. They dusted it off a bit before sitting down.

"I guess your hometown is interesting. Do you have any plans of going back there?" he asked, reminded of his dear Ireland. "I've always wanted to go back, but when I plan on going back, suddenly, there would be some crucial case or a violent event whether here or back home." She said, sadness reflected in her brown eyes.

"How did you get here? I mean…how did you enter the Italian police force?" "I finished at the top of the class as a cadet back home. After a few years of experience, I was sent here. How about you? How was the Emerald Isle?" Helena asked.

"Green, I guess." He could almost hear her scoff. "I lived a simple life with my mother, going to mass every day, praying, just sitting on the grass and looking in the heavens. I was a happy kid, and curious as well, poking cows with sticks only to be chased later." A laugh escaped his lips. Yes, he was that absurd as a child. "I should have tried to do that when I was in the province." Helena said, amused.

"Well, here comes the tragedy." Patrick said, trying desperately to hide the sadness in his eyes. He told her of the bombing in the chapel, blood raining from the sky; the ICU which he thought was heaven.

"These things make us stronger, though. I'm amazed that you didn't crack up when you were a kid." She gave him a pat on the back. "The monastery must have been a therapist's clinic…" she added. She could see his lips tugged, forming a gentle curve.

"Well, yes. There was Brother John, one of the monks. He was my best friend. I also had a puppy. I named him Rain. Those were the days of innocence. Those days ended when I turned sixteen." He said, as a stray dog passed by, looking much like Rain.

He told her his experience with the military. It was obvious from the tone of his voice that he hated those 2 years of chaos, noise and the annoying scent of gunpowder. He hated any kind of weapon, he preferred prayer, but if absolutely necessary, he'd rather use his fists, or just his uncanny ability to manipulate a situation.

"You flew helicopters and parachuted?" Helena said, imagining him jump off a helicopter. It made perfect sense to see him look so exhilarated, shouting out loud and probably laughing. "You know, I've always wanted to do that too. You feel so free, as if you're in heaven." She stretched out her hands, as if flying.

"That was the same thing I felt when I jumped off. Maybe one day, you will jump off with a parachute. Would you like to jump off alone?" Helena had been smiling dreamily until he said that remark. It was as if her jaw was suddenly dislocated. "I'm not afraid of heights, but I'm afraid of dying. There should be at least one person who'll get injured with me or whatever."

He saved her from the grisly details of life after military training, as well as the truly horrifying act that led to his fall from grace. He only gave her a short story, like a blurb on the back cover of a book. He only used a few sentences, squeezing the revelations, the "voice of God", his father and the act, using symbolic words and a hushed tone. They were lucky that nobody passed by as they talked.

She almost couldn't believe that he could single-handedly do a crime like that. In all her years of police life, she had never come across such a grand scheme. Sure, the Vatican was famous for controversy and conspiracy, but not as elaborate as that.

He refused to look her in the eye after telling his story, looking down on the pavement. _She may have told me before that I wasn't insane, but I don't know how she would process everything I told her._ "We all have issues, don't we?" she asked, looking into the distant horizon.

"If people didn't have any, how boring life would be. Some people think they hear the voice of their supreme deity, some people think they're a glass of orange juice. Others are afraid of lawnmowers and such." She added, as he raised his head, intrigued by the oddity of what she was saying.

"But people are better off without these 'issues'. The revelation was too much for me to handle…I acted like a fool…the greatest fool in the world." Patrick said, mentally beating himself with his words.

"Stop being a martyr. I thought you were ready to leave all your wrongs behind you. Wallowing in self-pity won't do you any wonders. I had this revelation moment too…when I was eighteen. It involved my father, just like you." Her words were firm, without sarcasm or pontification.

"Really?" _At least I'm not the only one with problems around here. Wait…everybody has at least one._

"My mother told me that the man who I looked up to wasn't actually my father. My real dad was her former employer in Spain. That's why I was different from everyone else in our place. I'm a _mestiza_; half-Filipino, half-Spanish. So I guess we're on the same track." She said.

"We should sit on this bench more often. Our conversation today helped me know more about you, and vice-versa. Well…maybe not. The whole world could hear us from here." Patrick said, his eyes brighter than ever.

"We'd better go home. It's almost lunchtime…and the sky just suddenly grew dark. Besides, it's a better place to spill out all your secrets. I don't need to use another name for you." She replied to him.

They set their eyes on the dome above their heads, no longer a beautiful cerulean. It was now a drab gray. They stood up from the bench, walking in large, quick strides. "_Carlo_, can I ask you a question?" "Alright."

"When were you born?"

"April 2, 1971." She paused for a while, doing a mental calculation. "Are you joking me?" she retorted, as if Patrick had lied to her. "Helena, I won't lie to you. Yes, I'm thirty-eight. What's so unbelievable about that?" Patrick said, wondering if Helena was flattering him or she really doubted him.

"You don't look your age…you look about 10 years younger. I'm serious! You should look at the mirror some more." She said, snickering intermittently. "Hmmm. Thank you. How about you, then? When were you born?" the priest asked, as if challenging her.

"December 14, 1973." "You're thirty-five…is this a woman's technique of lying about her age?" Patrick asked, sneering. "I'm as serious as you are. I have my birth certificate at home." She said, assuming an expressionless tone.

"If we're both honest, then I sincerely return the compliment. You look quite young yourself. I'm going to be frank with you…I'm vain at times. I never left my quarters without making sure that the last strand of my hair is combed into place." He said, running his hand through the spikes on his head.

"Thanks for the compliment." She studied his features, paying close attention to his eyes. In gloom, his eyes were an intense green, but when the light danced on him, they appeared blue. Her eyes were so stuck to him that she did not hear him say a warning.

"Helena, stop walking, you'll bump into--" Patrick said, but he was too late. He had not noticed her staring at him. A tall blonde man wearing dark sunglasses and a suit with black tie had bumped into her and both of them almost lost their balance.

"I am so sorry, miss. I was so engrossed by the sights that I didn't notice you both. I'm also sorry, sir, for bumping into your girlfriend." He said, looking nervous. "Forgiven, sir…but sorry, I'm not his girlfriend." Helena said, while Patrick turned red. "It's okay. You're both alright, I suppose. No one slipped or dislocated a wrist, right?" the former chamberlain said.

"It was nice meeting you both. Excuse me, but I have to go now." He walked away, looking back at the two. _Maybe they're lying. They look like a real couple. Oh well, this is not the time to play matchmaker, though I might want to try out the guy's hairdo…it's better than a purple mullet. STOP. THINKING. ABOUT. DISTURBING. HAIRSTYLES. Father McKenna, don't transform into someone I won't recognize. I need to find you.

* * *

_

Almost near the street of the apartment, Helena and Patrick saw a crowd gathering at the street corner. There was a bar there, and judging by the angry voices and the smell of liquor, they both knew that a fight was going on.

As a police officer, Helena had a duty of keeping the peace and order of Rome. Seeing a few bottles fly and break on the pavement was already intolerable. She tapped a worried observer on the shoulder and asked in Italian, "What happened here, sir?" "Some drunk confessed that he slept with his buddy's girlfriend." The inspector looked at the watch on her wrist. "Why, it's too early to be drunk."

"So, what happened?" Patrick asked, hearing a flurry of words that pained his ears. He did not want to hear any swear word. "Apparently, the liquor made someone say a bit too much. Now, his pal's mad at him and they're all probably in a dogfight right now. Stay here. Don't put yourself in trouble again." She said, walking to the scene.

She made her way through the cheering crowd and saw two burly men on the floor, one sitting on the other, bludgeoning him with his fists. "Mario, this is what you get for knocking up my girl!" One punch to the chest. "This is what you get for betraying me!" A punch to the face. The other man lay there, trying to parry the angry drunk's knuckles. "Leo, stop, it was just a joke!" "IT'S NOT FUNNY!"

Both of them suddenly felt a strong hand pry them apart. The two looked up to see a woman wearing what appeared to be a trenchcoat cut off at the knees. Her hands were on her waist, and the expression on her face meant business. "Drinking too early…check, initiating bar fights…check. Thank you for insulting the order in this city." You could already _hear_ her sneer.

"Don't bother, lady. You shouldn't be meddling in our affairs. Who do you think you are?" almost immediately after the stronger man said that, he could see something that she whipped out of nowhere. "Inspector Helena Gallego of the _Polizia di Stato _at your service, sir. I'm afraid I might have to pull your sorry butts to the police station with me." She said, showing her ID.

"Oooooh…I'm scared." The weaker one said, starting to recover from the blows. He wiped the blood off his nose and mouth. "Let's see what you can do." The one named Leo said. He was six feet tall, with a heavy build. He poised his hands, ready to punch her in the face, but upon his assault, her palm met his fist and tried to hold out against him. "You're a strong one, eh."

He used his free hand to touch her, almost fondling her body. Her face turned viciously angry, using her other hand to stop his wrist. She twisted his wrist, any more action she could have done would have broken the man's hand. The man drew back both his hands and yelped. "Ow! _Lei la puttana!_" he cursed loudly. "I'll let you call me by any other insult…but not that!" Helena said, flushing in anger.

"I'll teach you to talk to me that way!" he grabbed her neck, choking her as he drew back his fist. Helena was pounding his arm, trying to find a way to free herself from the man's grasp. The other people tried to pull him away, only to end up punched in the face or scared. At least one of them was able to call a few police officers.

His fist was in its full fury, already half a meter away from the inspector's face. As the others watched with gaping mouths, a hand with a few burn scars was brave enough to block the fist. Helena's eyes widened in horror as she saw who stopped the blow from hitting her face… _Oh my God…what are you doing?_

A collective gasp came from the crowd. "Let her go." Patrick said, the fist still stationary in his palm. "And who are you?" the bully asked. "It doesn't matter. LET… HER… GO." "Oh, so your little English boy comes to save you." Leo laughed, but it didn't last.

A strong, swift blow to his solar plexus made him lose grip of Helena, who tried to recover her wits and her breath as she saw her companion stand there. Leo had fallen to the ground, resting on the legs of the other brawler. He was having trouble breathing. "Keep your useless fights away from this street…and take your issues with you as well." He spun on his heel and walked away, the crowd cheering for him.

Three officers in uniform ran to the scene. They recognized Helena. "Inspector Gallego, we'll take it from here. I hope you aren't seriously hurt." "Thank you, officers. I'll be alright."

"How about that guy over there, was he part of the drunken brawl?" another asked, pointing to Patrick. "Not really…he intervened to save me from asphyxiation and a blow to the face." "Stay safe, Inspector." The third said. "Thank you, again. Be careful when dealing with the drunks." She said, as the policemen went into the scene and made sure that the two brawlers were not going to make more trouble.

Patrick rushed to her. "Are you alright now?" the color on her face had returned. "I am. You saved me from my foolish attempt to stop a fight. I'm grateful that you did." Helena said. He sighed in relief. "Come on, let's go home. You know, I'm proud of you, standing up in front of those jerks…and I bet you're hungry." He said, looking at the sun, which was directly overhead. Their eyes met for a while, both smiling, before they strolled home.

* * *

Arriving at the apartment soon enough, they heard Feliz barking happily. "He missed us, I'm sure." Helena said, removing her shoes and placing it in the shoe rack. "Well, you didn't tell him we were leaving. You just left food on his bowl. No wonder he's barking. He might have thought that we left him forever." Patrick said, doing the same with his footwear.

"By the way, Patrick, I forgot to give you something…something you really deserve." She said, embracing him immediately. He did not react to it, and he placed his arms around her as well. "I deserve this? For what?"

"For getting into that job…and your fighting skill." She said, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Someone whom I owe a lot to does NOT deserve to be treated like that. Are we considered friends already?" Patrick asked, as if changing their status from "housemates" to "friends" in his head.

"Just promise me you won't threaten to kidnap anymore cardinals and poison another Pope with Heparin…and don't call yourself Janus…it doesn't suit you…please?" Helena said, pretending to plead. "I'll go with your terms." "Good."

She was secure in his arms, her longing for human companionship satiated. Sure, Feliz could be man's best friend, but people need people. Laying her head on him, she knew she had a friend, a protector, an imperfect angel in him.

He had to admit to himself that he needed it. _You never got a warm hug in the Vatican, Patrick. Congratulations for receiving one after more than 10 years._

Breaking the embrace, they saw Feliz sitting on the floor, tipping his head to one side, looking at the pair as if they had acted strangely. "I know exactly what you're thinking, Feliz. Go to the kitchen now, we'll follow." Helena said, as if she read the thoughts of her pet. Feliz went scurrying down the corridor.

Patrick looked at her and spoke. "I hope this would be the start of a good companionship…it was always a give-and-take even at the start. You saved me, I saved you. Now, I could see better days ahead." They went to the dining room, following the taunting bark of a little Siberian husky. It seemed happy that his owner finally found a great companion.

* * *

End of chapter 4.

It's not every day that you see a camerlengo go into a barfight. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as well as Chartrand's disturbing thoughts.

-TDYSG


	5. Libri Quod Tabellae

I'd like to thank everybody for waiting and reading for my next chapters. I have three very busy weeks ahead so I might not update at a usual pace, so I will do my very best to add chapters. Even with this hurrying, I will not compromise my quality of work. That is my work ethic and I can promise you that I will abide by that.

Thank you for all your reviews. Thank you also to those who chose this story as one of their favorites, and to those who put this on their alert list. A little appreciation always goes a long way.

* * *

Chapter 5: Libri Quod Tabellae

A white mug sat on the table, amongst other implements. Dark brown liquid was steady in it, steaming hot, ready to be drunk anytime. The air was cool, signaling the approach of fall. A Siberian husky noiselessly ate his food from a bowl in the corner while a man was sitting on one of the chairs, looking at the doorway, expecting someone to be there. It was Monday morning, the start of another busy Roman week.

He glanced at his watch, the same one that he had worn in the Vatican. Luckily for him, it was not destroyed. Only divine intervention could have kept his watch whole and still functioning. It was the only thing besides his shoes that he originally owned.

It was 6:15 already and his companion was not yet downstairs. For someone so meticulous and efficient, this was alarming behavior. _Cut her some slack, Patrick. She must have wanted to sleep a bit more. _He held the coffee mug and brought the beverage to his lips, finishing a third of it before he stood up. _Patrick…you know that Helena's NOT like this. Wake her up now. _

He went up the stairs and knocked on her door. There was no answer. He turned the knob and was surprised to find that it was unlocked. He entered the room, almost similar to his, except for the design of the black curlicues on the white walls, instead of spread all over the walls; hers had the pattern on the posts and corners.

Her room was almost the same as his: with a desk and chair, a few shelves, a door to another small balcony, large window panes, a bed in the center, a bedside table with a lamp and an armoire. The only differences were the laptop and printer on the desk, an alarm clock, no Bible on one of the bookshelves, multiple photographs of friends and family on the shelves and more pillows on the bed.

Speaking of the bed, it seemed like a huge mess, pillows on the foot of the bed rather than the headboard, the comforter half-dangling on the ground, and a tangled mass of black. Patrick crept closer to the bed, looking at the unruly black mass. Unlike tangled wool, the object he touched was soft and somehow smooth. He gently pulled it to a side and his eyes glowered. _I thought this was a mass of black wool!_

He tapped her gently on the shoulder, sitting on the bed. She did not stir. He whispered into her ear, "Helena, wake up." She seemed to have heard it because her eyes were straining to open themselves. Her brown eyes opened, with a small groan escaping her lips. She flung her face onto her pillow, as if she didn't want to see Patrick.

"It's almost 6:30! You're--" but as he was supposed to say the last four words of his sentence, she bolted upright. "WHAT?!" her eyes became large. "Oh...sh. Sorry…" she almost swore. She scratched her head in dismay, running her hand through her wavy black hair. She stood up from the bed and rushed to the bathroom to take a bath.

Patrick arranged all the pillows and the thick blanket on her bed. He left her room, shaking his head and went down the stairs. He sat down at the dining table again, drinking the remainder of his coffee, as well as popping food in his mouth. Feliz walked to Patrick, resting at his feet, staring at him quizzically. "Feliz, she just woke up late. Nothing to worry about." He said, scratching the dog's head before he took his empty plate and mug to the kitchen sink to wash.

Heavy, thundering footsteps banged on the stairs. Helena, now in uniform and damp hair, stormed the kitchen and gave Feliz a quick scratch. She filled his bowl, making sure he had enough for his meals, as well as water. She poured herself a mug of coffee and drank it in less than 5 gulps. "Patrick, you know where the other ring of keys is, right?" he looked at her and spun the ring of keys around his index finger.

"Good. Okay…calm down. I can just talk to the commissioner about my tardiness…though he won't probably listen to me." She said, setting her coffee mug on the sink as her friend washed all the utensils. "He'll listen to you." He said, as if sure that it would happen. "You have contacts in the _Polizia di Stato_?" she asked. "No, but I have a feeling that he _will_ listen to you."

He placed the last of the dishes in the cabinet, wiping the table clean. He washed his hands afterward, as well as looking at his clothes, making sure that they were not dirty. She traded her slippers for black socks and black shoes, while Patrick just wore his sneakers, since the old black shoes he wore were burned, as well as falling apart.

Even in the flurry of thoughts which went through Helena's mind, she remembered an old habit in her home when one would go to school, work or anywhere for the first time. "Since it's your first day of work, let me share a bit of a 'tradition' of ours back home." She said.

"Are you sure you aren't bothered by this? You were worrying about the time…and your commissioner not listening to you." Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Eh…let it be. Now…when someone goes to school, work or something for the first time, we slap that person in the head…then kiss them on the cheek afterwards." she was almost laughing when she said this. _My mother had the best ideas._

"How ironic…hurting someone then kissing them?" Patrick asked, anticipating a hard blow to the head from the inspector. Without warning, a hand hit the side of his skull. "Oww!" "That is a symbol of whatever hardships would come as you go through that job." "You could have used a less painful symbol." Patrick said, rubbing his spiky head. "When does the kiss come in? My head probably needs it now."

"You aren't family…so it's a bit awkward. You're technically still a priest…so it's wrong. My panic must have caused me to think like an idiot. Forget that I hit your head." Helena said, rubbing the side of his head with her thumb. "How could I forget if it hurts like hell?"

She then pressed her lips to his cheek. "That…is actually what my mother calls the _signal to get out_. But I'll change it. This one embodies everything good in whatever you do. Good luck, Patrick." She said, taking out her car keys and leaving the flat. The dog was standing at the dining room doorway, watching. "Thank you…" he said, his head not painful anymore.

"Arf!" a sharp bark came from Feliz. Patrick shook his head. "She filled your bowl, right? I want you to be a good puppy dog, eh. I'll try to come home early." He gave the dog a smile as it replied with a wagging tail and a louder bark. He brought nothing except himself with clothing included, lunch, his skill, his warmth, his smile and his house keys.

* * *

A blunt letter-opener swept through a white envelope flap, second to the last among the few letters on the Pope's desk. "If it isn't my dear nephew…congratulating me." He put down the letter and looked at the last letter on his desk. It was odd because of it had no return address, just the address of the Pope. _Who could have sent this?_ He thought, taking the letter out of its envelope, upon sweeping his letter-opener again through the flap.

As the paper unfolded in the former Cardinal Mortati's fingers, he had to raise an eyebrow. It was rare to find a handwritten letter these days. Upon seeing the words written, he was in great surprise. Though slightly distorted, the script could only belong to one person. _It can't be…did he write this?_ Upon looking at the signature below, his thoughts were confirmed.

The date was written…then an Italian name…then an address…then the Pope's name and office.

_Your Holiness:_

_I write to you to express my profound contrition for all that I have committed. I realized that my motives were insane and the trauma of what my father had said destroyed my logic and reason. I had created a scheme so complex and so difficult, that I have deceived not only God and the world, but as well as myself._

_I claimed to have heard the voice of God, but the only voice I heard was the voice of evil. I had thought that I was Sin Incarnate, due to the illicit relationship of my parents. I thought that this voice was one that truly called me to greatness. It was not. My unsettled childhood problems were combined with my recent issues, making me both stupid and mad._

_Now, I request, Your Holiness, that you revoke my vows, for I am unworthy. Subject me to excommunication, subject me to trial, your will be done. I am ready to accept the consequences of my actions. If ever I shall serve the Lord again, let me serve him as a member of the laity. Even as a member of the common royal priesthood, I still find myself unfit. I have committed sins beyond compare; had this Church allowed death penalty, I would have suffered the worst death of them all._

_I have decided to change myself for the better, discreetly living my life. I will not be the perpetrator of another conspiracy against the Holy See. Yes, I ask for my dispensation, if it is your will to remove me from the ranks of clergymen. Yes, Your Holiness. All that I have written are true._

_Congratulations on your ascent to the Papacy. May God bless you in such an arduous task. May He give you the strength and endurance needed in these trying times. Thank you very much._

_Very truly yours,_

_Fr. Patrick McKenna_

The pontiff stared long and hard at the letter. It was really Patrick's handwriting. _The handwriting is his…the eloquence is his…how could he have lived through his self-immolation?_ He breathed slowly, trying to absorb his discovery. He reached out for the telephone and pushed the speed dial for the Swiss Guard's headquarters.

"I request the presence of Lieutenant Chartrand in my office later this afternoon." He said and finished the call. _Lieutenant, your search may be over.

* * *

_

He arrived at the bookshop, just as Mr. Franco was opening the shop front. "You came just in time, Carlo. Now…when you enter that door, I want you to start arranging those books and keep tabs on all of them. I replaced the cash register with a computer. I guess you'll know how to work it out…in 3 hours." He turned the key and the door was opened.

Sun-drenched now was the interior of _L'eden di Pagine_, free of dust and dirt. As Patrick entered, he found the books piled on top of each other, looking like towers. Three large bookcases, a few hundred books and a need to create an inventory…

Mr. Franco looked at him. "Can you do it, Carlo?" "Yes, _signore_, I can." "I'm going to leave you then. I'll put the "closed" sign so that you will not be bothered. I want to see if you could be trusted. By the way, the paper, scotch tape and supplies are in the cabinets installed on the counter table. The printer is in the compartment under the computer." He nodded at his new employee and left.

The former camerlengo was left in the middle of the shop, thinking of a way to organize everything. He took the books pile by pile to the counter. He opened the computer, mentally scoffing at the people who thought that clergymen can't use technology. He was relieved to find some program that could create a database, but he only knew the basics, and he thought it was all that he'd need.

He was able to make an inventory, finding some interesting titles like _Dracula, Silas Marner _and _Anna Karenina _but he frowned upon seeing a copy of the _Kama Sutra_. Why on earth would it be there? His conservative nature was making him cringe. _No…just concentrate on your work, Patrick. How will you arrange them? Definitely, you will NOT use the permutation lesson in Algebra. _The thought of it was making him shudder.

An idea suddenly struck him. It would be easy to find a book you want, using the most popular titles that an author had created. He would put some of these on display by the window. These famous classics would be grouped by genre and placed in the left bookcase.

If someone would like that book from a certain author, he would be bound to look for other books. For this reason, Patrick thought of arranging the other books by author on the right bookshelf. He would just print out papers which would show which genre or author had the space on the shelves.

_But how about the shelf at the back of the cash register…what am I going to put there?_ He had a by-author arrangement and by-genre arrangement. Looking again at the stacked books, he found a few reference books and published journals and lectures. Those were going to the bookcase behind the counter, but with the porcelain and glass embellishments on the top shelf.

Each book he handled with care, following the arrangement he had thought of. Staying faithful to his system, he finished it in an hour and a half. Printing out some papers and cutting them, he stuck them to the shelves, identifying genres and authors.

Since his job was done, he decided to flip the sign. It now said "Open". As Patrick turned away to browse a novel, the door opened, revealing Mr. Franco, who came in with a look of surprise on his face. "So, _signore_…how do you find it?" he asked, shutting the copy of _The Home and the World_ so that he could look at his employer.

It took a few minutes for Augusto Franco to understand his cashier/bookkeeper/assistant's concept, until he saw the papers tacked to the shelves. He found the idea to be quite efficient. "You did well, Carlo. If you want, you could borrow that for a week." He pointed to the book in Patrick's hand. "The topic interested me, _signore_. Thank you for lending it to me."

Augusto walked to the big door behind the counter that led to his residence. "I hope you can handle this job." He entered the door, leaving the shop. Patrick just gave a shrug and started reading while no customer came.

* * *

"Hmmm…Inspector Gallego seems blooming today." A shrill female voice said, looking at the flushed face of the lady sitting on a sturdy desk, her fingers blazing across the keyboard. A pile of papers, with information that would comprise a database, almost shielded her from view. The paperwork, as tall as two-and-a-half 930-page Algebra textbooks, sat on her desk, with a smooth volcanic rock being their paperweight.

"Cut it out, Bella! And for Pete's sake, you're late! Commissioner Marino might double your load." Helena said, looking away from the flat-screen monitor in order to look her best friend in the eye. "He already did. Don't worry about me. I like typing all these documents rather than being hit on by tourists near Castel Sant'Angelo." Bella said, laughing.

"Good luck, then." Helena said, snickering. "Hmmm…speaking of hitting on…some officers told me that you tried to stop a bar fight near your house." The half-Filipino, half-Spanish officer's smile was cut abruptly, replaced by a blush she was trying to prevent.

"And you put up a good fight…but you were choked and almost punched in the head…" Bella said, in a singsong voice. "Yeah…I did…quite stupid of me, eh?" "I don't think you're stupid. You're just TOO noble at times." Inspector Moretti folded her hands over her chest.

"Remember two years ago, the lost kid whom you brought around Rome just to look for his parents and you spent about forty-eight hours doing that?. Yeah, you did find the parents but after that, you got sick from running in the rain for a few hours and tiring yourself." Bella recounted, making Helena hold her forehead as if thinking, but actually ashamed.

"Yes, I do. It was worth the sickness." She smiled, stroking her wavy black locks. "Anyway…going back to what I was saying…you almost got beat up…until some guy blocked the fist and did a counterattack. These three officers asked from the drunks and the witnesses as well. I admire that guy, though." Bella said, a sinister smile creeping on her face.

"The officers said that you were _with_ this guy…and that you went home _together_. Why didn't you tell me you had a guy for the first time in a long time? You're pretty, you're smart, you're tough. All you need is a _love life_." the stress she put on this words could make anyone defensive, but not Helena.

"I don't have any interest in him. I've known him for only a few weeks. He's just a new friend; we've just passed the acquaintance mark." Helena said, without any expression. "But in case you suddenly like him, let me be the first one to know." Bella said. Helena rolled her eyes, but in good humor.

"Just joking…but of course, I want to wish you the best with that friend of yours. If he didn't save you, I'm sure that you wouldn't be here in one piece. I'm going to start climbing Mt. Paperwork already." They hit each other's knuckles before Bella left.

Helena went back to tapping the letters of the keyboard, shaking her head. _Bella's crazy…but that's why she's my best friend.

* * *

_

Patrick was a bit disturbed by the two women and the man who were in the shop, looking around. They stole glances at him from time to time. He was near the shelves, waiting for them to ask a question. His turquoise eyes were almost sparkling in the sunlight.

One of the women, a blonde about Mr. Augusto's height, pulled out a book from the shelf backed up against the right wall. "I'm taking this one." Her English had obvious Italian inflection. Patrick looked at the book. It was _Persuasion _by Jane Austen. He carried it with him to the counter, scanning the barcode on the computer.

"Five euros, thirty-eight cents." He said, as she handed him the money. He tore the receipt from the machine, placed the book and the receipt in a cloth pouch. "Ohh…environmentally-friendly bags. I'd thank your boss for that." She said. "I'll let him know. It's a good idea." Patrick said, smiling.

"I was a bit skeptic to enter this shop because of the former cashier. Things are much better now…and it was easier for me to find this." She told him, dropping a piece of paper at a discrete location near the counter. "Well, thank you. Have a nice day." She nodded at him, smiling, then left the shop, taking her purchase with her.

The other lady, wearing red from head to heels, bought a copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover. Patrick scanned it, trying to keep a straight face. After she paid, he put the book in the pouch with an uneasy grin. _What on earth will she need this for?! _She took the pouch and leaned on the counter. "You're probably wondering why I got this book." She told him, looking him in the eye.

"Not really…but I suggest you enjoy the novel. Reading has many benefits." The former priest said. "Thank you…hmm…you're quite a doll." Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, but I'm not that acquainted with modern slang." He said.

"You're probably not aware of yourself. You have something about you that draw people to you." She said. "I probably don't. Thank you for letting me know. As for you, _signora_, have a nice day." He said, quite innocently, aided by his eyes, which seemed green in shade, blue in light. She left, walking a bit flirtatiously, much to Patrick's concealed disgust. _What the hell did she mean? I'm—what they call in colloquial language—"hot"? Start cringing, Patrick._

The middle-aged man picked out a book on philosophy, something that Patrick had enjoyed studying as a seminarian. He knew how to think, and present his arguments convincingly. The customer had the book checked. Patrick was somehow pleased that he was able to sell some books. The day went on smoothly, with no incidents whatsoever. A substantial number of books were sold by 4 p.m. Mr. Franco also came to the shop.

"Carlo, this is just your first day, but you have done very well. You can go home already. By this time, there wouldn't be many customers." Augusto said, giving him a pat on the back. "Thank you, _signore._" He took home the book that Mr. Franco lent him. He was gone after a few seconds.

Mr. Franco walked to a discrete hole near the counter. He removed the cover and took out a metal bowl, filled to the brim with folded papers. His regular customers knew that inside every book, there would be a piece of paper where they would write comments and suggestions. These papers would be dropped into a hole.

"I hope he had dealt with my customers well." Mr. Franco said, opening the folded papers. The comments made him smile, raise his eyebrow, laugh and a few other things, as well as cringing. All of the comments had something to do with his new employee, Carlo Ventresca. The comments were positive, saying that he was intelligent and warm but the other comments made him do the sign of the cross. One admitted that he was distracting. The other had gone crazy over his accent. Others were worse.

"Carlo, you are NOT supposed to instill dirty thoughts in your customers." Augusto said, shuddering.

* * *

Helena came home at around 4:30. Commissioner Marino had dismissed her early since she had finished her paperwork on time. _He's in a good mood today…which is slightly disturbing. Anyway, at least I can attend to Feliz and Patrick._ Coming from the opposite direction, she could see spikes on someone's head. _It's Patrick, of course. Who else?_

They met at the steps of the porch of her apartment. "How was your day?" she asked him. "It was a good first day. I guess the Gallego family tradition worked…though there was some lady who was flirting with me…and she said I was a _doll_." He said, turning his head to her. His face was definitely radiant, though with a hint of creeping out because of the description given to him.

_He should look at the mirror more._ Helena thought, opening the door. "I'm not surprised. You have that look which is rare here. So, don't be surprised if you'll be chased around the Piazza. I'll be the one to say this to you. People will describe you using terms, slang and such, but they mean one thing: They find you very attractive. If you disagree, I suggest you look at the mirror a bit more." She went to the living room to sit down.

His cheeks were suddenly tinted with color. "They find _priests _attractive? Clergymen aren't supposed to lead their congregation into temptation! Oh…they don't know that I _am_ one…but I won't be soon enough." He said, stammering a bit as he went to the living room. Feliz had heard his voice, and trailed off to greet his owners.

Feliz was in between them as they sat on the divan. "Don't beat yourself because of that. We are human after all." Helena said, her eyes smiling at him. Patrick set his eyes on her. "Thank you." His voice was soft, almost a whisper yet sincere.

* * *

Bearing a seal, this envelope on a carved wooden desk could seal the fate of anybody. Old, wrinkled hands reached for it, trying to think if the decision he had done was right or wrong. Whatever it was, he had thought well. He was not going to regret it.

A younger man was there in that room, patiently waiting for whatever the elderly man would tell him. "This is urgent. It must be sent as soon as possible. If you can find the address, don't knock and ask for the sender. Just drop it in the mailbox. No one outside…should know about this. You do know what outside means."

"Yes, _signore_." He said, bowing in front of the anxious letter-sender. He gently took the envelope from the man's hand. "You may go." The younger man left the room, holding the envelope. _When I thought my search was over…it had only begun. _

He looked at the name written on the center of the envelope. It was a pseudonym, a pen name. He had entered society with this name. He had kept himself hidden with this name…_and most probably without looking stupid. _He thought.

He read the letters, written in elaborate script…

_Carlo Ventresca. _

_

* * *

_

_Libri Quod Tabellae_- Books and Letters

There you go, chapter 5 for you. Thank you for your continued support, readers.

-TDYSG


	6. Incendia

The last chapter seems to be the one to set the pace for the next events. I'm going to write a sequel to this after a few more chapters (about two or three). I promise that the sequel will be more exciting, more daring (action-wise, not…you know.) and fast-paced.

Patrick in a barfight was a bit light, but the succeeding chapters will not have the laid-back feel of the first few chapters. Prepare for a little more intensity.

I would like to thank again, all my readers and reviewers, as well as those who put me on their lists.

* * *

Chapter 6: Incendia

_Why on earth am I here again?_ He asked, still unable to comprehend why he was walking through those hallowed halls that Thursday afternoon. He remembered receiving a letter Wednesday morning and almost dropping a cup of coffee. He had to tell his boss to excuse him for Thursday afternoon. He had to think of several excuses in order to pull it off. Luckily, he sounded convincing enough.

His companion was walking beside him, for the one he was to meet specifically requested the presence of this person. He was surrounded by members of an elite security team, envied by governments around the world.

At first, he couldn't believe that he could set foot once more in this sacred establishment. It was as if he was in exile for the last few weeks. Here he was again, entering once more the most sacred office in the world. His changed appearance almost barred him from finding his way in. He was almost unrecognizable.

_"Are you sure you're Father McKenna? As far as I remember, he does not go to Church looking like he just rose out of bed…or maybe you just can't style your hair. Some people want to claim that they are him…though it isn't much of a pleasure to be him." A Swiss guard in suit asked him, eyeing him dangerously. "And…he never walked around the Holy See with temptation beside him." This time, he looked at Helena, who just had to raise an eyebrow._

_Patrick did not take any offense. He actually liked his new hairdo and Helena was not the definition of temptation. "I have proof." The ominous stare of the guard dissipated upon hearing those three words. "I can change my appearance, change my residence, but I __**am**__ Father Patrick McKenna. Some things will always stay the same." The guard gulped. The ever-familiar conviction in his voice and the Northern accent started to resurface._

_His fingers still bore marks of his injury. They held out an envelope, an opened envelope. The guard took it and started reading. With the heading, signature and the writing style, he had no second thoughts. It was a genuine letter from the Pope…but was this man standing in front of him the former camerlengo?_

"_I believe you're still not convinced. Your eyes reveal everything." Patrick said, his hand at the zipper of his black sweater. "Times are hard, sir. Knowing the turn of events." The guard said, his eyes becoming bigger at the sight of Patrick dragging the zipper all the way down. He was about to warn Helena, but Patrick was actually wearing a white button-down shirt underneath, much to his relief._

_Without him warning her, she knew immediately what her companion was planning. "DO NOT STRIP HERE. Have you forgotten that this is the Vatican?" she asked, looking nauseous. "I won't strip. This is just for validation." He said, undoing three buttons._

_He was doing it just for the sake of showing the brand mark, but any hormone-driven woman might have found it a deliberate act of seduction. He was unaware of how his hand worked at it, slowly, as if taunting the person in front of him._

"_In case you're ready for your shoot, my hands are clean…you'd probably make a good pornstar one day." she turned away sarcastically, making sure she did not see anything. He did not strip, as he said, but only opened his shirt until his chest was in view. A sickening scar of the intense branding showed itself on his flesh. It was surrounded by half-burned and almost shaved hair. All the elements, written as ambigrams in one diamond…nobody can imitate this brand._

_The Swiss Guard officer almost fell back. The man standing in front of him was the one and only Father Patrick McKenna, former camerlengo and conspiracy plotter extraordinaire. Between Patrick's serious expression and the officer's dazed look, there was silence, to be broken by Helena's impatient remark._

_She turned around and looked the guard in the eye. "He's given you all the proof you need. We're going to be late for our appointment with the Pope. If you want him to end this open-shirt affair, please let us in. Do you want to spend part of your life looking at some branding scar on someone's chest? Believe me; I never looked at it closely. I'm sure you don't want to as well." She let out her police ID and flashed it in front of him._

"_Alright…I think your escorts will come soon." He said, terrified by the dagger-like stare that she gave him. "Father McKenna, lead us not into temptation by closing your shirt." She told him, still not looking. He buttoned his shirt again, half-closing his jacket, looking wholesome without even wearing a cassock._

_Moments later, Swiss Guards in suits came to escort them to the Apostolic Palace, with Lieutenant Chartrand's jaw almost dropping when he saw the pair. "I think I saw you both at Piazza Navona!" he blurted, with the others raising eyebrows. "Yes, I recognize you." Helena said. "We bumped into each other."_

_A senior member shook his head and rolled his eyes. "We shall now take you to His Holiness' office. I hope no untoward incident would happen." He glared at Patrick. As they walked, Chartrand said, "I like your hair, Father." "Thank you, Chartrand." He said, as Helena smiled at the comment. From then on, no more words echoed through the halls._

He knew these corridors by heart. A few hundred steps later, they would find themselves at the Pope's office. He now understood the swift events that led him to coming here. Opening his shirt had been part of the plan if nobody would recognize him. Helena had criticized him for that, but it was one way to let them know. Modesty was her primary reason for frowning upon such act.

Collective footsteps sounded on the marble floors, heels of shoes clicking and tapping. Patrick's hand held the envelope again and he read the letter once again, wondering if he was in a dream or if it was true. He turned to Helena, seeing that she was overwhelmed by the difference of the interior and exterior of the Apostolic Palace. It was crass and almost lifeless on the outside, a huge work of art on the inside.

He had skipped the first few lines, not bothering to read the headings, the dates, locations and whatnot. He immediately read the body of the letter.

_Dear Fr. McKenna,_

_Greetings of peace and well-being._

_I never thought that you could have survived such an incident. A burning such as that could have cost your life, if not probably for the intervention of the Father, whom I believe has other plans for you (which do not involve setting up complex plans and putting this Church in a dangerous position, and especially not dying). I believe that the Father sent an instrument of his mercy to you. It is a sign that even in your "fall from grace", our God still loves you. May I request that you bring the one whose efforts allowed you to live._

_I recognize your desire to atone for your grave misconduct and I shall give you that chance. We have decided on holding you on trial, with an ecclesiastical judge who shall hear your case. You have pleaded for dispensation, as well as excommunication. We will see what could happen. In case of excommunication, you may either be a t__oleratus__ or a __vitandus__. You will also be tried by a court of law._

_I am also processing your dispensation, but you shall only be dispensed from priesthood after your trial for excommunication. Complex as your case had been, I believe that by God's grace, we shall be able to solve it. I am certain that you know the effects that come with excommunication, and that is the very reason why I asked your companion to come with you, not because s/he is to be excommunicated as well, but to inform this person of what you shall go through._

_I believe in your capacity to change, Father McKenna. I believe that even if your faith had been shaken badly by the revelations of that fateful night, you will stay as strong as I had first known you. I am counting on you. Do not attempt to break this trust. I am also banking on your honesty, but I personally think that you are sincere._

_Thank you for greeting me. May God bless you as well._

A few lines later came the usual "Very truly yours" and the signature. He kept it again in his hand, tense and almost skittish. If he'd be given time, he'd better resign from his job as a cashier in Mr. Franco's bookshop. Some excommunications could go on for long periods of time, except when set.

She could sense the worry in his face, the small sconces of light from those halls falling indirectly on his eyes, still shining even in anxiety. She put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it hard, reminding him to take courage.

_Be strong, Patrick. This will be for your own good…as well as mine, perhaps._ He grabbed her hand from his shoulder, holding it tight. _Even when I had not entered your existence yet, I know you have done well, Helena. If needed, forget that I ever became part of your life. Excommunicate; exorcise me from your life if there is a need to._ She could feel his hands turn into ice.

The walking came to a halt. They stared at two huge doors, with the guards requesting permission to enter. "Avanti!" a prompt reply was heard from inside the door. Helena and Patrick almost broke each other's hands trying to hold on for support, but they let go soon. The dark corridor was brightened by the light from the large windows before them. And in the middle of the grand office…was the Pope.

* * *

He stood there, almost a vision, his white robes glowing in the afternoon sun. He cast a nod on the Guards, asking them to leave, all but one blonde rookie. Four of them were left in the Papal Office: a police Inspector, a Swiss Guard rookie lieutenant, the former camerlengo, and the Holy Father himself.

He eyed Patrick from head to toe, almost not recognizing him, except for his eyes, which could mirror any emotion which came out from this man. Right now, he could see fear diffusing into contrition. It was a miracle that he survived his tragic ordeal; to the Pope, he had never seemed more alive.

His attention turned to the woman beside Patrick. She had the proud but courteous stance of an ideal _Polizia di Stato_ (after work, she immediately went to the Vatican), not intimidated by the authorities. Like Patrick, her eyes were open windows; one could almost see her soul. A strong, convicted spirit could be seen there, but with a sconce of vulnerability blocking it.

"Please, sit down…even you, lieutenant." Pope Paul VII said, motioning to the chairs in front of his desk. Helena and Patrick sat across each other, while Chartrand sat between them. "First and foremost, I would like to welcome you, Father McKenna…and to you, _signora_. May I know your name?" he asked, motioning to Helena.

"Helena Maria Gallego, Inspector of the _Polizia di Stato_." She shook the pontiff's feeble hand, resuming the seriousness in her face. "Now, Father McKenna, I am sure that you have thoroughly read the contents of the letter I sent you. I am sure that you know the consequences which come with these teachings of the Church."

"Yes, Your Holiness. I am well aware. As I have written, I am ready to face anything." The former camerlengo said. "Very well. Your dispensation is also being arranged at the moment. You shall be a part of the laity sooner or later. Now, I'm afraid that your trial will have to be public since this is a whole faith. You still have rights, and we want to make sure that even if the public sees you as a menace to security, you are still treated humanely. Your trial shall start next week." The whole room was silent as the final sentence struck.

"It's my fault. None of these would ever have happened if I had let him die that night." Helena said. Chartrand, Patrick and the Pope looked at her. "Miss Gallego, I believe saving lives is a noble act. We are all given chances…and you gave Patrick this opportunity he sorely needed. Even with the stigma cast by what a person does, the need to save outweighs reputation. What belief went through your mind when you saved him?" the Pope asked, his voice grateful.

"A person is separate from his actions…and that everyone deserves a chance…but what I did could now cost him more than everything else. He would have been free if I let him go back to the Father, but because he still lives, he can lose his freedom. For some time, I thought that I had done the right thing. Did I?" she asked, looking the Pope directly in the eye. She was not asking a rhetorical question. She was _demanding_ an answer for a critical question.

_I think you did._ Chartrand thought, but he decided not to enter the discussion. To speak out of turn was something he did not consider as becoming. The Pope was about to say a word when Patrick gently said, "Helena, it's not your fault that this happened. I asked for this. I will allow all of this to happen because…it's the right thing to do. I told you before that I'm not afraid for myself…I'm afraid for you." The Holy Father then said, "You…" he paused, "did the right thing. You restored his right to live…and now, he will be given true freedom. You brought him back home. As a precaution, you will also be under the Vatican's protection."

More details followed, all about his upcoming trial with the ecclesiastical court. Yes, there were grave effects ahead of his imminent exile from the Catholic society, but there were promising statements which hinted that Patrick was not to be an excommunicated member of the Church for life.

The Pope also suggested that Patrick stay in a non-Catholic society in order to avoid contact with Catholics when his punishment was to take effect. Chartrand was at the edge of his seat, already imagining what excommunication felt like. _For sure, it's not a walk in the park_. Helena might have looked gloomy in the beginning, but the hope returned to her face as the Pope started talking about absolution.

Patrick remained steadfast to his conviction. He wouldn't back out from anything the Church would impose on him. Wasn't he the one who played hardball when the enemies of the Holy See would lash at them? He was the former camerlengo, and whatever experience he had would be his basis for survival.

More words were spoken, some easily understood, the others hard to swallow. It was time to part. The sun was setting already. Before they stood to leave, the Pope gave a blessing. "May you remain strong in adversity, never daunted by the path that lies ahead of you. May you change for the better, and live a life of purpose. May you always act with reason, wisdom and responsibility…and may you always be blessed by the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, as you begin another chapter of your life…"

"…Amen." Patrick said, the word once again so familiar to his tongue. "And to you, Helena," he held a hand on her head, "always do what is right. Never be afraid to do so. I see a strong character in you. Use that as a means to attain goodness."

He then moved to Chartrand. "You have always done well, surpassing expectations, staying faithful. I hope the Lord blesses you more, Lieutenant." The Pope said. "Chartrand, please escort Miss Gallego to the porch of the Apostolic Palace. I want to say a few more words to Patrick."

The blonde Swiss Guard immediately obeyed. "Signora, please come with me." He said as she followed, looking back at Patrick and giving him a smile. His reply was a smile she could never get tired of. As they exited, the Pope closed the door and spoke to Patrick, an earnest smile forming on the older man's face.

"Do you have any plans after you all these trials and exile?" he asked, startling Patrick a bit. "W-w-why do you ask that,_ signore_?" "As a lay person, you won't be officiating any ceremonies and preaching, right? You are now open to other options of serving the Lord. You can choose other paths."

"I'm not sure, Father…I can't get a job because of my reputation." Patrick said. "Well…how about studying…or loving people and starting a family?" "Studying, I am very open to that…but love? Uh…I don't know. Isn't it that I'm too old to be a father or husband?" the priest asked, red creeping up his cheeks.

"Why, you've always looked younger than your true age. How old are you again, thirty-eight? You remind me more of a man in his late twenties. But remember this…after all that you will go through, I want you to be happy with your life, Patrick. Choose wisely. By the way, all your old things, except your cassocks, are at the porch. You can take them with you." "Yes, Father." Patrick was about to walk to the doors when…

"You do not need to look far for happiness. For all you know, it might be just the first thing you see after exiting the Apostolic Palace." "Thank you, Father." Patrick opened the door and left, pondering on what the Pope had told him.

He knew the way back, he had walked through these corridors hundreds of times. As he reached the porch of the Apostolic Palace, with the sun casting a bright reddish-orange glow in the sky, he saw Helena sitting on the porch, beside a large but plain wooden box.

As if she had felt his presence, she turned around and said, "I hope you don't mind that I'm looking at your past photographs." She said, holding a bunch in her hand. He sat down beside her, looking at the almost-faded memoirs.

"You got your eyes from your mother." She said, looking at one of them. There was an innocent-looking boy with ruddy cheeks and bright eyes, happily holding the hand of his mother, who was beaming with pride…none other than Patrick. In the background were endless stretches of green which had given the country its moniker.

"I was about 6 when that one was taken." Patrick said, also studying the picture. He almost forgot that the boy there was him. Helena studied his face. He had not lost his boyish charm. Maturity actually enhanced it, giving him a countenance which could melt popsicles even in winter.

He could feel her eyes on him, and he was bothered. _Why is she staring at me like that?_ He thought that she was just trying to look for the resemblance between him and his parents, so he was not worried anymore. He found himself looking at her. She did not exude sensuality. He was not interested in that. She had strength and effortless beauty as her aura. That was what Patrick liked most about her.

* * *

Chartrand was asked to take Patrick and Helena home. He was fingering the car keys while walking to the porch. There he found them, near a box. That box was the reason why they had to be taken home by car. _No wonder…it's kind of huge. Ohh…what's this?_ He found them engrossed in each other's stare, their eyes bright in the orange light.

Chartrand cleared his throat. No response. He cleared his throat again, this time more deliberate, and louder. Patrick suddenly shook his head and looked up. "Lieutenant, what brings you here?" he said, embarrassed. "Father McKenna, Miss Gallego, I was asked to take you both home, knowing that it's difficult with this box." Chartrand was trying to suppress some laughter.

"Send my thanks to the Holy Father, Lieutenant Chartrand." Helena said, "Well then, shall we go?" Patrick asked. He helped Chartrand carry the box to the backseat of the car which they would board. An uneventful drive in the streets of Rome ensued, and they came home without incident. They thanked the lieutenant before they entered her flat.

* * *

He stood at the balcony, looking back at the box that he had emptied earlier. He still had ordinary clothing in that container, and he had it washed and dried. His memoirs were placed in a small space in the bookshelf. His rosary was comfortably nestled beside a small crucifix on the bedside table.

Wrapped in a thin bathrobe and loose night pants, he leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking at the massive dome of St. Peter's, glowing eerily in the distance. The wind was blowing gently, caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes, sighing.

_This will be one hell of a week, Patrick. Be strong. Whatever happens will do you some good. _He could hear two sets of footsteps after the almost inaudible opening of his bedroom door. The first set was loud, as if trying to announce its presence. The other was soft, only making a sound because of the laws of nature.

Patrick turned around, seeing Feliz, eternally wagging his tail. He had missed the little guy, not having bonded with him for the past few days because of work. He knelt down to scratch the dog's head. "I missed you, Feliz." It then drew back just to pounce on the priest. "Alright, alright…" he said, laughing after each syllable.

"That's enough, Feliz. Patrick's probably tired. Go on now, love. It's time for you to go to bed." She said, the way a doting mother would tell her child. She reminded him of his own mother, firm yet loving. Feliz was a good dog, and he immediately exited the room, barking with a taunting tone.

Patrick stood up and gazed at the Roman skyline, with Helena staying beside him. "You're going to have a busy week ahead. Go and get some rest." She said. "I will. Thank you, Helena." He said, looking at her. She was dressed in pajamas, with a thin robe covering her from shoulders to thigh. The sleeves were hiked up to her elbow.

"To be honest, you don't need to worry about getting excommunicated. It won't be permanent." She said. "True…but what I fear most is the stigma I'll get from the public. Knowing what I have done in the past, society may not forgive me." Patrick said, his eyes downcast.

"If they're true believers of the Church, they will…and if they're truly ethical, righteous people, they will. Sadly, not all of them are. Don't listen to them. Listen to yourself. Listen to God. If everything fails…" she beamed at him before saying the last phrase, "…I'm here."

The wind blew stronger, making the soft material of Patrick's robe slide down, exposing his right shoulder, glowing, diaphanous in the murky lights. _Is he doing this on purpose? He's branded his chest and exposed it to the public…he exposed himself to the Swiss Guard earlier…is he doing it again? He'd better stop. Lead us not into temptation._

Upon awareness of the situation, he immediately hiked his collar up, hiding his shoulder. He gave an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry about that. It's getting late, we should get some rest." She gave a nod, turning red. She was able to hide it by going into the dark bedroom. "Goodnight, Patrick." "Goodnight, Helena." She walked out of the room as silently as she entered.

_One day, I'll be able to redeem myself. I'll just wait for that opportunity to come. It will come in God's time, Patrick…in God's time._ He shut the door to the balcony and climbed into bed, falling asleep as soon as he had finished his prayers.

* * *

Long, tapered, hairy fingers tapped at the keyboard so viciously, it could have caught fire. The typing slowed down to a more relaxed pace; the monitor displayed some programming interface. He brought his index finger in the air, theatrically dropping it on the Enter key of the computer.

A window suddenly opened, displaying a feed from a surveillance camera. It showed a room with red tiled floors, a carved desk, an unused fireplace, and four people in it, all sitting down, with serious looks in their faces.

A smile formed on his lips. _The camerlengo lives…surviving such a daredevil act. _He turned up the volume, listening to the conversation. It involved publicizing a trial, excommunication, and a woman who had saved the priest. _Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I think the boy has fallen. It's time to warn the public about your existence, Patrick McKenna. You are demented. You are a murderer. You are a fraud._

He stood up from his seat and looked out the window, the chilly breeze biting his face. He was in a retreat, sitting almost hidden in the peaks of the Ligurian Apennines. One could see the coast from there, and the waves rolled on the shore, violently crashing on the sea cliffs. _It is time. Like the coast, you shall be battered by the world. You will get what you deserve. The Vatican probably loves you too much…but everyone else…will hate you.

* * *

_

So, there you go, sixth chapter. Uh-oh, someone else is entering the scene. Hehe. You'll get to know him soon.

Thank you for all your support, guys.

-TDYSG.


	7. A Trial, His Error

I've been receiving positive remarks on the last few chapters, and for that I am deeply grateful. Your alerts, favorites and reviews really help. I will be busy for the next few weeks, so please don't expect fast updates. My exams are coming, and after exams, I'm joining a debate tournament (in which the motions had nothing to do with religion and science. Awww.)

It's not yet time for a happy ending but I assure you, it will come. Patience please, readers. Patrick will go on a little obstacle course through life, and Helena on her own rollercoaster. One event will be the catalyst of major changes.

**Godsgirl3021: **Thank you so much. I appreciate that you enjoyed it. I also like your profile pic of Patrick. :D

**Ranayana: **I know it would pain us a bit to see the dear camerlengo in great strife, but this would be an essential tool for later events. Don't worry; these obstacles also have their humorous sides.

**Tine:** I watched the movie first, and he got me very intrigued. I read the book, and still, I was intrigued. For ¾ of my experience, I thought he was a hero. It disappointed me that it had to end that way. There could still be so much that Carlo could do. Don't you just love complex characters? That's the very reason I made this fic. I know that there's still more to him than just snapping because of a revelation.

**Annax1031:** It's been a while since you reviewed and I'm happy that you did. Yes, Patrick's barely a month into his new life and he's going to get into some trouble. About them as a couple, there's chemistry in their contrasting personalities and I'm sorry for making you worry.

Actually, my last sentence is for everyone. I think I did make a lot of readers worry, but the greatest writers could even make people sympathize with villains.

Before reading this chapter, I suggest you guys read this: http: // www. newadvent. org / cathen / 04447a. htm [Just put the words together. I can't upload the link when written as one word. It gets deleted.]

This will help you understand. I did my research. *wide grin* I tried to understand the workings of an ecclesiastical trial with the best of my ability. If I failed to write this chapter with accuracy, please do inform me. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter 7: A Trial, His Error

His calm manner and disinterested eyes were out-of-place when it came to his situation. No defendant had ever been as bored as him, even just sitting outside the room where his trial was to be held. He just let out a tired sigh. He was thinking of the week that had passed. Time moved too fast. Most especially, he was thinking about two days ago, a Monday.

_"WHAT?! YOU'RE LEAVING? CARLO, WHY?" Mr. Franco's small hazel eyes flung wide open. Patrick hung his head low. "I'm afraid you won't understand, signore. It is an urgent matter that would require me to permanently leave this job." He said, shaking his head. _

"_B-b-but, you were my best employee…my clients enjoyed your presence and skills. Now, I'll have to look for another one." Augusto said, "In just a week or so, there were only 10 books left unsold! Had I not ordered twice from my supplier, this shop would be devoid of books!""I appreciate that you found me a suitable employee and I owe a great debt to you, Mr. Franco." Patrick said._

"_If it is needed, who am I to stop you? Carlo Ventresca, I enjoyed working with you. You are probably God's gift to bookshops. Before you leave, I want to give you some things. First, I will give you half of the profit from the book sales of this month. Let this be your farewell bonus. You have done me and this shop a great service. Next, I want you to get those 10 books and choose." The kindly old man smiled at him sadly._

_Patrick took the ten books with a heavy heart, the books also weighing like lead. He laid them out on the wooden counter, looking at the titles._

_The Imitation of Christ… Das Kapital… The Social Contract… The Home and The World… Ivanhoe… Trainspotting… After Dark… Noli Me Tangere… Emma… and… A Separate Peace._

_He looked over them carefully, looking at the gist at the back of the books. He took The Social Contract without batting an eyelash, but he had to think when he was to choose the other book. Almost all of the titles were works of literary genius, but the former priest was looking for a book which used subtle language, without flamboyant or grotesque events._

_His eyes loomed over the books until he picked the last one: A Separate Peace. He stacked them, away from the other books, which he promptly stacked as well. "They are yours now. Take good care of them. I hope that you remember this part of your life through them." Augusto said, squeezing Patrick's shoulder._

_He went to the back for a while to get something. He scribbled things then gave his assistant a sealed white envelope. "€180. Use it well." Patrick held the envelope ruefully. "Thank you, Mr. Franco…May God bless you." "To you as well, Carlo. I hope I can find someone like you…or at least close." Augusto said, shaking the younger man's hand._

"_This week might change how you think of me, Mr. Franco…but keep your eyes open. I'm sorry for whatever damage I may have done." Patrick said, walking out the door and looking at his employer. The afternoon sun shone on his blue eyes, making their hue intense. When he disappeared into the Roman streets, Mr. Franco started writing an announcement on a piece of paper._

_He had spent a small part of his 180 Euros to buy clothing and shoes, since his "exile" would require him to bring things._

_Tuesday, he spent it meditating and reflecting, silent for half the day. He was going to face the world once more, this time, with a tainted reputation and a distorted image. "Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to accept the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Amen." It was a favorite prayer of his. Now, he would need it more than ever._

His thoughts were broken by the battle-hardened footsteps of a senior Swiss Guard officer. "Father McKenna, you may enter now." His voice was cold and hard, like steel. Patrick nodded, raising his head afterwards to look at the massive doors in front of him.

_No longer shall I ever be called Carlo Ventresca. It's time to come out of my hiding place. I will show myself to the world this very moment. My name is Patrick McKenna._ His shoes tapped on the marble floors, the strong sound echoing throughout the halls of the spacious surroundings. When the doors opened, the sound of his steps made everyone turn around and look.

* * *

"Gallego, you and Moretti are assigned to the vicinity of the Colosseum." Commissioner Simon Marino said, passing the dark-haired inspector by. "Yes, sir." She said, with a tone of defeat. The older man raised an eyebrow. "No critical response? No raised eyebrow? No battle of wits? Are you sick, Inspector?" Helena kept typing away at the keyboard. "No." she said, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed.

"Moretti!" the _commissario _called out, as Bella stepped out of her desk and went over. "Ask your friend why on Earth she's depressed. As I was saying, you're both assigned near the Colosseum…start rolling at 9:25." "Yes, sir." Bella said, doing a limp, flimsy salute with her two fingers.

Helena's fingers slammed on the keyboard, typing in the last few letters of her document. She shut down the computer after saving it, without batting an eyelash. She stood up, opened her drawer and hooked her finger to the trigger of the gun and pulled it out. She flicked her wrist upward, throwing the empty gun into the air, going a foot above the table. When it was 4 inches above the table, she grabbed it by the handle and loaded a magazine into it, not unlocking the latch that would allow the trigger to be pulled. She holstered it without panache.

"What?" Inspector Gallego asked, eyeing Bella strangely. She couldn't blame Bella, though. Flinging your .45 caliber firearm in the air, the metal winking at you then catching it in a blink of an eye to promptly put the clip in it wasn't an everyday sight in the station.

"How did you do that?" Bella asked, drawing out her own gun in a more orthodox way. "That's for you to find out. Come on. It's 9:20. We'd better be out of here in five minutes if we don't like Marino to badger me with questions." She said, grinning and walking in large, fast steps. Bella ran off to catch up with her.

"I'll try to get my gun out that way…" Bella said as they walked through the whitewashed corridors of the station. Helena took out her gun, again removing the bullet cartridge. "Just fling your wrist a hundred and eighty degrees. It will take one-fifth of a second. Make sure you send it straight up then catch it when you can. If needed, dig your nails into it…or find a hole to pass a finger through." She flung her gun into the air and entered the clip as she caught it.

Bella looked at her partner, knowing that still, there was something wrong. "_Nothing alleviates disappointment better than hard work." _ She remembered an old relative telling her. _No…I don't think work will do it for Helena. Whatever this is about…I should know._

"Len," Bella started softly, almost like a question. "Yes, Bel?" "Are you alright?" Helena looked down and said, "No…but I hope you don't mind if I won't tell it to you. I'm not ready to discuss it." Bella just nodded. "Alright…good luck anyway." "Thank you, Bel." _This isn't really my problem…but I feel partly responsible._

They strutted down the hallways, getting a key for the patrol car. Silence went on between the two as Helena drove to the Colosseum, thinking of only one person. Right now, she wished she was with him.

* * *

The great doors were opened for a highly-publicized trial involving a complex plot from within the Vatican itself. Never had it been used before as a court. They swung open, with two Swiss Guards ushering in first, a beam of light from the outside; next, the most familiar face in the world to all the people inside.

Michelangelo's painted ceiling, Raphael's tapestries and Botticelli's frescoes must have been appalled to see the clergymen utilize the room for this purpose. Just like ordinary trials, one hearing would not lead to the verdict. There would be more.

Rays of sunlight bathed the room, peering from the small windows near the roof. As everyone looked at the man who was to be bathed by this radiance, they could not imagine that the creature walking the aisle with his head looking down would be capable of unimaginable sin.

His hair was combed back, the absence of spikes allowing everyone to recognize him. Dressed in a black cassock, he was unmistakable. The sacred area was now accessible to the media, with its representatives taking live footage. They were allowed inside, as long as they would only tape the proceedings and not intervene in the case, not even a single question was to be entertained.

Every angle of the priest was in the world's television sets and Internet feeds. Atop the steps was a long table, where five people sat. The Pope himself sat in the middle, being the highest judge in the college. Two others sat on either side of the pontiff, an auditor and an assessor. The other judges sat at opposite ends of the table.

A middle-aged priest sat at the bottom of the steps, with his own table, holding his pen ready on a blank page of a thick book, faded with age. He was the notary. On the front row of the seats were tables, one reserved for the plaintiff; the other for the defendant. Two procurators represented civil law, since this was a criminal case as well. Patrick had chosen his procurator, an aged lawyer who once worked for the _Polizia di Stato_, a few days ago, with Helena's help.

Anyone was free to choose a lawyer or procurator for trial, as long as this person was not excommunicated, anyone under the age of 25, a regular without his superior's notice, clerics who can't act as lawyers or a notorious criminal.

"We now call this court to order. We stand here on the case of the People of God…the Church versus Father Patrick McKenna, on the charges of murder, fraud and conspiracy against the Church. How does the accused plead?" the Pope asked, his voice reminiscent of a real judge.

There was silence in the room, the only noise coming from almost inaudible beeping from equipment, and flashing cameras. Every breath was held, waiting for an answer. This was not even the verdict yet, but the world hinged on every word said in this trial.

Patrick was standing the way a dying tree would: obstinate, refusing to fall even with everything taken away from him. His head was still turned down until he lifted his blue eyes (which was thought of by many to be green) to look at the judges.

"_**Guilty."

* * *

**_

"_What nerve!"_

"_Shame!"_

"_And to think he plotted all of this!"_

"_Now, this is entertainment!"_

These responses came from all over the world, with mixed reactions to just one statement. But in a Piazza Navona apartment, there was no angry or rash comment. A mother and a daughter sat on their overly-soft white divan, centered in a living room themed with white and silver.

Both of them had their mouths open in shock. The child's voice broke the deafening silence. "He was the one…who helped me find you." And no other words came out. Her honey eyes were like glazed orbs. "Chiara…do you remember when he said his name was Carlo?"

"Yes…I never knew he liked wearing black skirts." Chiara said, absent-mindedly. "He's not just a priest…he's _the_ priest… who burned himself." Lucia, the mother said, still staring. "He lied? So…he's a bad guy?" Chiara asked, trying to satiate her 7 year-old sense of justice.

"I don't know." But Lucia knew the answer in herself. Her daughter came in contact with a "despicable" character. _Why? How?_ But, this same "despicable" character did not allow the consequence of losing Chiara. What weighed more: a world that saw him as a traitor, or a child, of your own flesh and blood, returned to you?

* * *

"There's nothing good to watch." An old man said, a faded book in hand, the remote control in the other, flipping through the channels of his television. "Oh well, better go back the shop." But then, he dropped the remote and one of the buttons hit the armchair. It turned to the news channel.

"What on earth is this, a new soap opera?" he said, glued to his seat. "Set in the Vatican, no less!" Upon seeing the turn of events, he knew immediately that this was one of those Church trials, but not as cruel as the Inquisition. In a sea of priests who all wore white or cardinals in red, the flashing of cameras, and some prominent people from the world of politics, one figure, wispy like a flickering flame, stood out in black.

He must have been the youngest clergyman in the room, his hair smoothed out, revealing more of his boyish face. When people thought of priests as the last humans who could be thought of as gorgeous, he was probably the best counterargument.

One short glance at the camera, the old man was seized. He read the blinker on the television: _"LIVE: Father Patrick McKenna on trial"_ was printed there, in Italian. "CARLO?!" he shouted, his eyebrows furrowed. He was about to curse and call the man a big fraud when he remembered him leaving a week ago.

"_This week might change how you think of me, Mr. Franco…but keep your eyes open. I'm sorry for whatever damage I may have done." Patrick said, walking out the door and looking at his employer. The afternoon sun shone on his blue eyes, making their hue intense._

"Car—Patrick…I will try not to judge you…" Augusto Franco said, settling down again, clutching his temples as he watched the procedure.

* * *

It was clear to the world that Patrick made no counterplea. He actually wanted to be declared guilty. Right now, evidence was to be presented, after the oaths of truth.

Oral evidence was harder to find, since most of the witnesses were dead, with the exception of Robert Langdon and Vittoria Vetra, who both wisely decided to stay away from the case. Everyone knew the story anyway, or so they thought.

Surveillance camera footage, Leonardo Vetra's old diaries and gadgetry were supposedly enough. It was apparent that this trial was done only for formality. The world was waiting for the verdict, but of course, there would still be thorough reviewing of Church laws, as well as civil law.

As the plaintiff explained their side, the aged lawyer, Saturnino Bellucci, squeezed the young priest's shoulder. "Be strong." Patrick did need strength, not because of the intensity of the trial, but because of the sheer monotony.

He could even see government officials who were dozing off, as well as few media personnel. He was wondering how the notary was able to take note of the statements, but he realized that the plaintiff's procurator had been rehashing his arguments for the past few minutes.

_Anyone watching this is sure to be asleep by now...and I'm hungry. _He could see the Pope, still sitting and alert on the judge's seat, but the auditor's head was already tilted downwards. The auditor then raised his head subtly, looking a bit more alert after stealing a few winks. Instead of focusing on the case, Patrick found his consciousness drifting to a memory, but this time, not of his mother.

_I owe my life to her…and all I can give her back is pain. _He thought, remembering the raven-haired, brown-eyed woman he had being living with for the past weeks. _She's not a police officer. She is the dawn after my fall, the most terrible of nights._ His mind was led back into the Sistine Chapel, just in time for his lawyer to defend his case.

* * *

It was just one of those uneventful Roman patrols; action seemed elusive to Helena and Bella nowadays. They were just standing in front of the colossal stadium built more than a thousand years ago. Most incidents were either happening at the Vatican, or in places that the two inspectors were not seen.

"You know, Len, we should be assigned within 10 meters of the Vatican. The closest one we've ever had was St. Peter's Square…which is technically part of Rome." Bella said, glancing at her watch.

"Don't put your defenses down, Bel. Things come when you least expect it." Helena said, holding the hilt of her gun. Suddenly, Bella's phone rang. "I wonder who on earth this is. Excuse me a moment." Bella said, pulling herself to shade and answering the phone.

"_Ciao? Il Bella qui_." She said, almost with a yawn. "Inspector Moretti, this is Guerriero. Sandro Guerriero. Do you remember the man we told you about who saved Inspector Gallego?" a hurried voice rattled on the phone. "Yeah, what about him?" Bella asked, as if the matter was of no importance.

"Do you remember the bomb threat at the Holy See? Because that man we're talking about…is actually the--" the lower-ranking policeman was cut short. "_THE CAMERLENGO_!?" Bella said, in a strained whisper.

"Warn Helena. NOW. Don't worry, I won't let anyone else know. Father McKenna is currently undergoing the first hearing of the case. The law will deal with him." Sandro said, also in a hushed tone.

"Alright. Thank you for the information, Officer Guerriero. Do you know where the lunatic's staying?" Bella said, shifting her eyes at an unknowing Helena. "I have no idea." He said. "Thanks again, Sandro." "Don't mention it." Then the line went dead. She kept her phone and walked to Helena.

"You're my best friend, right?" she said, clutching Helena by the arm. "Get to the point, Bella." Inspector Gallego said, thinking this was one of those best friend dramas. "That guy you were going out with…I found out something about him. Do you know what he can do?" the inebriated inspector said.

Helena did not flinch, as if she saw it coming all along. "I do." She said flatly. "How could you not tell me? I know this is a major security issue, but don't you trust me?" Bella shouted, raving mad. Her eyes were wide-open, with her mouth in a sneer. She was the picture of shock and anger, but there was something odd about her expression.

_Bella's eyes turn into slits when she's angry, not into saucers. _Helena thought. "That's why I told you earlier that I wasn't ready to talk about my dilemma…yet. But now that you mentioned it--" she said, but cut off by her partner. "How could you not tell me…?" Bella repeated, looking disappointed.

Helena was about to open her mouth, when a glazed voice said, "…that you were hanging out with the hottest guy in the world!" Bella said, looking like she had pulled off the greatest prank in history. Helena blinked many times, the look on her face priceless.

"You aren't concerned about the cabal…and all those things?!" Inspector Gallego said, bewildered beyond earthly bounds. "I'm concerned, of course." "You're not angry with me for not telling you or turning him in?!" "No, not really. You did say in the past that everyone deserves a second chance." Bella said, smiling.

"I'm proud of you, sympathizing with someone whom the world probably hates. I'm sure it was difficult on your part." She beamed at her partner, with Helena giving a sad smile. "Everyone's watching him right now, Len." There was silence between them, until an ear-piercing scream shot through the air.

They looked at each other for a while; then ran off to the source of the noise. It was coming from the Temple of Venus just in front of the Colosseum.

* * *

Night fell a bit too early, even if it was already an October fall. Flowers in the Vatican Gardens were breathing their last. It was unlikely to see a suspect and a judge walking together, but here they were, strolling in the dark, lit by a few dramatic lights around the flora.

"Father, if you may allow me, let me stay here for the duration of my trial. If anyone finds out that I've been living with Helena, she could get into trouble." Patrick said, now out of the cassock, but still in black. "It's noble of you to think of her safety, Patrick. Very well then, you may stay. This way we could keep an eye on you. By the way, your dispensation will take effect later this week."

"Thank you, Your Holiness. I will come back tomorrow morning with some of my belongings." Patrick said. The Pope raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you'll go out this late? You might be attacked by the paparazzi…and for all I know, you may be plotting to escape."

Patrick gave a short laugh. "I won't escape…and don't worry about me, _signore_. The paparazzi will not even know that I will walk through the streets of Rome tonight. I will go now." He took the pontiff's hand and gave his due respect. "God be with you, Patrick." The Pope said, seeing him walk away.

* * *

It was a familiar room: dark and musty, only illuminated by the light from the computer. This time, there was no furious typing on the keyboard. Just a few clicks of the mouse, and there was a video feed being watched. Someone was watching Patrick's first hearing…again…and again.

_The scroll will roll out exactly the way I want it…when you leave, camerlengo. The time to unleash more about you has come._

The man's face was still unrecognizable, only its silhouette defined by the dark shadows in the room. A high forehead, tumbled hair, an aquiline nose and thin lips defined his face. He was also wearing wire-frame glasses, which he clinked from time to time as he watched.

An unseen smile, dark as the night and just as sinister, formed on his face. The cold ocean breeze wafted into the window, showing a starless and moonless night sky, obscured by clouds. His plan was to be put in motion about six nights from now.

_When you thought it was over…it has only just begun.

* * *

_

It was still the same video feed being watched, only, instead of a flat screen monitor, it was viewed on a laptop. No longer was the location a dark, unknown structure hidden by a mountain range following the curve of the Gulf of Genoa. It was now a well-lit black, white and silver-themed living room in a Roman flat.

The viewer was no longer in shadows and not even male. She was sitting on the divan, watching with a critical eye. She was concentrated on what she was watching, even if her wolfish companion was already whimpering. "Oh, Feliz. You miss Patrick, don't you?" she said, scratching the head of her dog.

Feliz nodded his head, but as he did, the door to the house was opened. He perked up and knew the familiar footsteps. A tall, lean frame showed himself at the living room doorway. The lady of the house turned to him with an expression which was a combination of worry and relief. "I'm glad you got through the streets unscathed." She stood up and embraced him.

"Thank you, Helena. I'm afraid that I won't stay here long. I'll be back tomorrow at the Holy See. I decided to stay there in order to keep you safe. They may know who I am, but they don't know where I stayed." He said, drawing her close, as if trying to protect her from the world.

"I understand…thank you, Patrick." She said, breaking away as they sat down on the black divan. "Have you eaten?" she suddenly remembered to ask. "Yes, thank you. How about you?" "I did as well. Feliz missed you, you know?." The dog started to curl itself on Patrick's feet. He smiled and patted Feliz's head.

"Hm…they really filmed you from all angles…surprisingly flattering." Helena said, observing the way the hearing was filmed. "They just knew how to get the good side." He said, blushing slightly. "You're too modest." She added, closing the browser window, followed by the whole laptop. Feliz went away, yawning. He barked goodnight and went to his basket. "Goodnight." they said.

There was silence between them as she lay down on the sofa, curling a bit to give Patrick space to sit. "Are you alright?" he asked. "Not really. Some of the people in the police force already know that I'm with you…but they don't know that I harbored you; all they know is that I "go out" with you…and I got tired with my partner catching some crook a quarter across Rome." She said, fixing her nightshirt and fluffing up the pillow.

"Sleep in your room…not on the sofa. Come on." He said, offering his hand. She took his hand and stood up, turning off all the lights downstairs before they went upstairs. She went to her room and when her head hit the pillow, she was asleep immediately. Patrick took a shower then went to Helena's room to check on her.

He put a hand on her neck; she was nursing a mild fever. He found a thermometer in one of her drawers and got her temperature. _Thirty-eight point zero._ Though it wasn't quite a cause for alarm, he got a basin and cloth, and started wiping her face and forehead, as well as her arms and neck. He had placed a covered glass of water and paracetamol tablets on her table.

The cool water on her skin roused her, as she looked at the clock with a dazed expression. It was just 9:59. "Helena, you're sick. Get back to sleep. Let me handle this." He said, touching her cheek. "You should be the one going to sleep. You've got another stressful hearing tomorrow." She said, smiling faintly.

He did not answer; he just kept wiping her and rinsing the towel. He let her drink some medicine after a while. "Stay here...until morning." she said, before surrendering her consciousness. He was puzzled because he knew he was not supposed to do that, but out of concern, he stayed. When her fever went down, he just let the towel and basin rest by the bed.

He wanted to go back to his own room but he saw her so forlorn there, needing another human being with her. _It's the least I can do for you. _He turned off the lamp and lay beside her. _I won't cause you any harm…_

He slept beside her, taking her into his arms. _Father, forgive me, if ever I fall for her… but I promise not to do anything unforgivable._ _Helena…I don't know if this is real…or my heart and mind are tricking me because it had been long since I felt this unexplainable warmth. _"Goodnight…" his words were whispered into her ear as he fell into the depths of his dreams.

* * *

Oh yeaaaaaaah. End of chapter 7.

: ) Hope you liked reading it.

-TDYSG


	8. Verdict Assignment

I am sure that I kept you guys waiting for so long. I am so sorry. After the exams and the contest, I'm glad to start writing again. There's nothing like this kind of work to get over some disappointment. Hopefully, this chapter would be received warmly since we are nearing the end of this story. Again, thank you to my reviewers.

**Misunderstood Evil:** Thaaanks. : ) Yes, I loved the name Dan Brown gave him in the book. It just sounded so…I don't know…cool?

**SilentBone:** I believe by now, you've probably died of waiting. I hereby resurrect you. I'm sorry for ending it like that. *wink*

**Razberri:** Thanks…your review was quite _interesting_. Of course there had to be a villain. Patrick won't get away with his happy ending too soon. *evil laugh* About Chartrand's hair thoughts, yeah, I don't know. It was totally random. It just came out of my head.

* * *

Chapter 8: Verdict Assignment

The first rays of the sun were yet to come even if the pitch-black sky was becoming less dark every minute that passed. A cool air hung over Rome, with orange leaves flying around the streets. One of these leaves hit the window panes of one flat in particular.

If one was so curious as to look into the window panes, he would see a somehow spacious bedroom in which everything was in order except for the bed. Two occupants were in it, one of which was a raven-haired woman who seemed like an image of undisturbed slumber, and the other one was a man, tightly embracing the woman, shielding her from harm.

One would think that they were dead, looking at their motionless forms. But if this was death, how could death be so beautiful? Simply because they were not dead, only asleep…This was proven as the woman's light brown eyes opened. And it was the first sign of life in that house that very morning.

She rose from sleep, already healed of her fever the night before. She faced the man who had done so much for her last night, to the point of sleeping beside her to make sure she was alright. She leaned over him and touched his soft cheek. "Thank you, Patrick…now wake up. I'm afraid you have to go." She said, shaking him a bit.

His blue eyes gently opened. Their soft expression was captivating. "Are you alright now?" he asked, pushing himself off the mattress. "I am...thank you so much." She told him. "Good to hear. I have to prepare myself for today as well." He said, standing up and heading to the bathroom. She watched him walk away slowly. He was going to stay at the Vatican for the duration of his trial. They would not meet for some time.

Just thinking about how things would be after his trial was wrenching her heart, though she did not dare admit it, not even to herself. Her hands limply folded the sheets and her eyes looked at the graying sky. It would be a bleak future ahead. _I'm just concerned about him. Stop it…you CANNOT love him. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. Reason overpowers emotion. Reason overpowers emotion._ She thought to herself, standing up after the sheets were folded.

She prepared for work as well, bathing and dressing up in her uniform. After feeding Feliz, she cooked breakfast, almost burning the bacon because she was staring too far. Her thoughts were stopped by a rushing set of footsteps, and the owner of those came down with the basin of water (from the night before) filled.

"Helena! Something's burning! Are you alright?" he ran to her, but luckily, did not douse the frying pan with the water. The policewoman shook her head. "Oh my…!" she exclaimed, shutting the stove. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry." She clutched her forehead, obviously disoriented.

She sat down on one of the chairs as Patrick decided to cook breakfast instead. He made his favorite, _champorado_, and served her a bowl as well. There was silence between them as they ate. "Helena… are you really okay? Something's telling me it's not the fever from last night." He said, sipping some coffee. "It's not the fever, Patrick." She said, her eyes revealing her thoughts.

There was not another word between them, except for Feliz's occasional barks. They were leaving already when she decided to tell the truth. Both had taken their shoes from the shoe rack. Helena took her leather shoes; Patrick took his own pair. When was about to open the door when…

"Patrick…" her voice echoed throughout the silent hallway. He turned to her with a sigh. He didn't want to step out the door and not return for almost a week. He would miss Feliz, he would miss the comfort of his room…and most importantly, he would miss her.

"Helena…" he said, taking steps closer. "I know this is not supposed to be…I know this is a crime…but…" his words were slurring, stammering. "It doesn't matter, Patrick. You won't be obliged for long." Helena said, looking at him with tiny pearls in her eyes.

"It transcends borders, Helena. It cannot be stopped…and I've rediscovered it…thanks to you." Patrick said, touching her delicate face as she clutched his wrist. "I never thought this would happen,"

"But anything could happen if you--" she was cut off suddenly when his pure, untouched lips pressed on hers, causing her eyes to fling wide open. Her eyes then closed under the warmth of his mouth, a certain kind of energy pulsing through her veins.

_I want to vanish in this kiss. This may be the next biggest mistake I've ever had…but I don't regret it. I am sure of what I feel. I love you, Helena._ He said, gently pressing his face to hers. _I'll leave because I care about you. I don't want you to get in trouble, but I want you to know this certain fact. No matter where I go, where you go, we would still be inseparable. But the question is: Do you love me as well? _

_I'm afraid for you because you are disobeying the laws you are obliged to follow…but I can feel that you are sure of what you are doing...Do you love me or are you just playing around with me, taking advantage of me? Whichever way, I don't know how, but I've fallen for you…I can't tell you…_ Helena thought, the euphoria taking over her. As they pulled away slowly, their eyes were only fixed on each other.

"I'm sorry, Helena. I'm sure you hate me already…but I just had to show you how I feel. It's hard to put in words." He said. "If that's how you feel, Patrick…I believe I feel the same way. Now go…before the world finds you here. Wherever you go, I'll be there in more ways than you can imagine." She said, with a rare smile on her face. His face became as bright as the sun, his smile heart-melting.

"I'll come back. I promise…but I can't guarantee that I'll come back at a normal hour." He said, taking her into an embrace. "Alright…be strong, then. I love you." She said. "I love you as well." Patrick said, kissing her forehead before he broke the embrace and left. It was still dark outside. They knew that they felt the same way, but no one knew that they could not be separated by time and distance.

* * *

"Good that you're here now. I never thought you'd come back safely. I was beginning to think that you were mobbed by early morning journalists." The Pope said, looking at the former camerlengo with a smile. "I had to settle a few things with Helena…that's why I came a bit late…but don't worry, I wasn't mobbed by the flashbulbs." Patrick said, giving a sheepish grin.

"Drop your things first in your old room and go to my office immediately. I have some things to tell…and give you." The pontiff said, patting the younger man's back and leaving. "Yes, Your Holiness." Patrick said, bowing slightly as they parted ways.

He climbed the stairs without any flamboyant gestures, just simple and reserved, though with a subtle elegance in his gait. Upon reaching the next floor, he turned right, looking for his room. Two knobbed doors with elegant carvings of crosses and vines appeared in front of him. It was his room.

He twisted the knob slowly. He pulled the door open, revealing a bedroom well-lit by the sunlight peering through the windows. His room was cleaned even when he left. No coatings of dust, not even a single speck of dirt on the floors.

A simple bed backed on the wall, with a crucifix over it. A small table with an ancient-looking lampshade sat at the left of the bed and a dark wood armoire was on the right. His study table was next to the bedside table, with a few pens and a ream of typewriting paper weighed down by a heavy black glass circle with white and red curlicues.

_It hasn't changed at all…well, Patrick. Welcome back._ He put down his bag by the bed and looked at the ornate mirror at the left of the door. Light switches were at the right of the door. Patrick looked at the mirror, Patrick smiled back. He turned to the doors and left the room, heading for the Pope's office.

* * *

The Pope was reading a document, with his nose resting on his knuckles when he heard three sharp knocks on his door. The old clergyman knew whoever was outside using the knocks as his reference. Two loud, aggressive knocks meant it was from the deceased Commander Rocher. One banging knock meant it came from the also late Olivetti. Soft, quick raps were from Chartrand.

Without a doubt, it was Patrick, since he had asked him to come to his office. "Come in." he called out, not lifting his eyes from the document. Patrick went inside and closed the door in his path. He stood in front of the Pope, waiting for him to speak again.

"Sit down, son. I have important news to tell you." He sat down on a carved chair near the desk and kept his silence, while looking out at the view of St. Peter's Square, where there seemed to be an influx of people. "Patrick," the Pope lowered the paper he was holding.

"I changed my protocol on your dispensation. I received the dispensation notice last night, about 10 minutes after you left. Under the new protocol, upon signature, you are relieved of all your religious duties. I signed it as soon as I received it. Here, keep it as proof. I know you said that you did not want any ecclesiastical position since you felt that you have done much damage to the ranks of the clergy. You've done the right thing…but are you sure you want to be dispensed?" Mortati, the Pope, asked.

"Yes, Father." Patrick said firmly. _I knew it all along. _"Since 9:30 last night, you were already a layman. But since your crime was against the Church, you will still be tried by the Church. Though you are now relieved of your religious vows, still…live in the right path."

"Yes, Father…" Patrick said, taking the sheet of paper in his fingers. "Go now, Patrick and prepare yourself for another trial…in two hours. You have no need of wearing a cassock." "Thank you, Your Holiness." Patrick said, leaving the room in silence.

* * *

_A few days more and this shall end. I await the verdict._ Patrick said. The doors of a court opened. This time it was not the Sistine Chapel converted into a judiciary convention. This was now a civil court, a court of the state. It was a small room, not even half of the floor space of the Sistine, and it was made of wood from walls to floor. This time, there was no media coverage. The Ministry of Justice did not allow it. The judges' table sat on the dais, with one main judge and two minor adjudicators.

The notary sat at the sides, not anymore a middle-aged priest with an old book. He was a dorky-looking lawyer who had yet to start his career. He was typing away at a laptop.

The main judge was a middle-aged female, eyeing him with a wicked grin on her dark red lips. She looked at the file in her hands. The paper contained information about Patrick McKenna. She had to doubt when she read the information. _He seems too young to be thirty-eight. A former priest who struts like a streetwalker and could pass off as a GQ model…no wonder they say the Vatican's the best liar. Whether the age is true or not, he just looks so corruptible…with that unsure look and those big blue…green…blue…whatever…eyes._

Attorney Saturnino Bellucci smiled upon seeing the young ex-priest. "Why…you look great today. I never knew that people made statements during trials." "That's not even one of my intentions." Patrick said, running his hand through his spiky reddish-blonde hair. He smoothed out his zip-down black sweater, with sleeves hiked up to his elbows. A cross necklace hung from his neck. He wore black jeans which completed the dark silhouette of his outfit.

"Attorney Bellucci, say hi to Helena for me. I will have to stay at the Vatican for the duration of my trials." He whispered. "I understand…alright. Now, let's stop talking. Judge Ferrero is not the type of person you want to annoy." Saturnino said.

"May we have order in this hall…NOW." A loud, booming voice resonated within the walls. There was silence. "I now call this court to order…People of Italy versus Patrick McKenna…" upon hearing those words, Patrick knew he was in for a long week.

* * *

"You still meet with His Holy Hotness?" a taunting voice asked. Helena raised her head and laughed. "Shut up, Bella Angela Moretti. You're lucky that there are no other people around." Inspector Gallego said, tying her wavy sable hair.

"Oh well. Marino's down with the flu. He sent a note here. Everyone was shocked when they read it. That's why they're all in the foyer, trying to contact the _commissario_." Bella said, giving Helena the note.

_To all police officers of this station,_

_I am currently down with a bad case of the flu. In my absence, you will be under Commissioner Marietta Capello, of the Roman Carabinieri. She has substituted for me before (if you remember). She may be stringent, but she will handle you well. She will arrive at around 9:30. Do not fail me, officers._

_Simon Francisco Marino_

_Commissario, Polizia di Stato_

_P.S._

_I have asked Commissioner Capello to keep watch on all of you, especially Inspectors Gallego and Moretti._

"And so? Why does everyone suddenly want Marino to get his butt here?" Helena asked, smiling at the irony. "I know that Marino's quite a…excuse my term…douche bag but compared to Capello…he's like plain bread. Capello reminds me of bread with vinegar. Oh, wait…you were sick when she took over for the first time." Bella said, running her fingers through her jagged light brown hair.

"I'm sure Commissioner Capello was a real…" Helena said, shutting down her computer upon seeing the time, 9:15. "You don't need to say it. I got it…YES. SHE WAS. And she hates anyone who dares question her authority. They say that she cannot be silenced, whatever debate you put her in." Bella said, cringing.

"Not even the Religion versus Science debate?" Helena asked, raising an eyebrow. _I bet I could silence her on that._ "I don't know…let's just head off to the lobby and wait for Commissioner CRAP-ello. That's the station's official behind-her-back name. Speaking of names, why didn't we officers ever think of a name for Marino?" Bella said as Helena stood up and walked with her. "Oh, Bel, no wonder everyone loves to have you here." Helena embraced her flippant companion for a short moment.

Bella suddenly stopped in her tracks. _Wait a second…I have to tell this fact to Helena. Commissioner Capello has a dirty little secret…which I found out._ "Bella, why did you stop?" "Len, I have to tell you this random, out-of-this-world fact about Capello."

"Bring it on." Helena said, as if ready for a battle of wits ahead. "I saw Capello gazing like a sick puppy at two pictures." Bella said, pulling Helena's ear so that she would listen to her whispers. "Who the hell are on those pieces of paper?" Helena asked, in a strained gasp. "She has a picture of Marino..."

"Eww." "…half-naked, no less!" "That's just…disgusting. Who's on the other one?" Helena said, trying to prevent her insides from twisting. "Helena, forgive me…but this is true!" Bella said, doing the sign of the cross. "A PRIEST?!" Helena asked, using the sign of the cross as a hint.

"Not just any priest." Bella said, slyly. "Who among priests? Is she lusting over a fresh-faced seminarian that she, as an older woman, would want to corrupt?" Helena said, the very thought making her sick. "Well, not really. Not that young… in his late thirties. The news said he's already dispensed though." Bella said. _Come on, Helena! We both know who I'm talking about!_

"Patrick?!" Helena whispered with shock and disgust. "_Correggere_, Helena!" Bella said, stifling a laugh. "Of all men…" The tall, dark-haired Inspector said with her eyes glazed. "Don't worry; she can't come an inch close to him. Oops…I think Capello's already here." The two were already at the lobby.

* * *

The officers of the station were arranged in three rows in the lobby, with Helena and Bella at the back. An official _Carabinieri_ mobile pulled up in front of the station. Out came a heavy-built woman with olive skin, dressed in the black-suit-and-white-sash combination of the higher-ranking military police. Her green eyes pierced through the door of the station. Her heavy boots slammed on the stairs of the porch, going up.

She pushed open the door the way a bully would, as the mobile sped off. As she entered, most of the officers held their breaths and became as stiff as marble. As one, the station raised its hands in salute. She just passed by them without saying a word and sat in Marino's office.

"No wonder she's called Commissioner Crapello." Helena said, "What a snob." "Helena, be careful of what you say. You could get into trouble with Marino…again." Officer Guerriero, the one who informed Bella about Patrick, told her.

"Sandro, Helena's been in trouble a couple of times with Marino. It doesn't matter." Bella said, rolling her eyes. A loud, booming voice came from Marino's office. She called for five of the officers to report to "her" office and added, "THE REST, COMPLETE THE PAPERWORK."

"Great…and she calls Marino's office as her own…" Helena said, leading the pack to Marino's office. Moments later, five officers came out. The first to come out was the petite blonde Officer Teresa Fabia, who just couldn't believe the assignment. "Of all places…why there?"

A young, tall, well-built and tanned officer came out blinking repeatedly. "No way… My mother works there. I don't want to be mollycoddled when I patrol." "Oh shut up, Sandro. At least we weren't sent as bodyguards." A short, middle-aged law enforcer came out. "But…Officer Valentin! She sent us as paparazzi!" Sandro said. "I don't even know how to work a digital camera." Gianni Valentin muttered.

Helena and Bella came out; both had looks of disbelief. "We're going to be sent where His Holy Hotness is. That should be good for you." Bella said. "No way… Please tell me this is just a bad dream." Inspector Gallego said, turning pale. _This means a lot of trouble.

* * *

_

"This session is adjourned. Both parties are to come back here tomorrow at exactly 9:30 AM. The verdict shall come after two more hearings. All those who wish to leave may do so." Judge Ferrero said, banging the gavel. A few hundred people stood up, leaving their seats. The courtroom was a flurry of noise and rushing, like a flashflood taking its course until all has been exhausted. And there was silence. Attorney Bellucci and Patrick were left.

Patrick looked at his watch briefly. "I still have three and a half hours before my hearing in the Vatican. Is there anything you want to do?" he asked his lawyer. "We'd better eat lunch. You know how these trials are…" Saturnino said, using his eyebrows to make Patrick understand what he was saying. "It's better than two lawyers at each other's throats while their clients are just raising eyebrows the whole time." Patrick said, as they walked to the exit of the court.

"Wear your sunglasses." Saturnino told him. "These aren't even mine. Helena lent these to me." Patrick said, shielding his eyes from the outside. As they opened the door, a crowd was gathered outside the trial court. Brandishing signs such as _"Camerlengo McKenna: Angel or Demon?", "Satan has infiltrated the ranks of the Church!", "Brand him too!", "How can we believe in God now?"_ there were no policemen to control the angry crowds.

Bottles, rocks and tomatoes were being thrown in every direction towards the former priest and his attorney. "They're mobbing us! Where's police security when you need them?" Saturnino yelled, dodging the projectiles with his briefcase. "Patrick? Patrick!" he looked at his companion, walking as if there were no ballistic objects. Saturnino's mouth gaped open looking at him.

The mob was silenced; the bottles ceased to exist. Five _Polizia di Stato_ operatives surfaced. Apparently, they had tried to contain the crowd and partly succeeded. But the real calming of the storm happened as he walked through.

"The TV screen can't do him any justice," an onlooker remarked. "So…this is the criminal?!" another asked, bewildered. "Excuse me, please, make way for them. They also deserve to pass through. Mr. McKenna and Attorney Bellucci probably have another hearing to attend." Officer Valentin said, with a flat, disinterested voice.

"Gianni!" Saturnino yelled, calling out to the officer. "Satur! This must be an interesting case for you to handle!" Officer Valentin said, shaking hands with his former co-worker. "Quite the contrary; the hearings can be boring. How did the five of you get here?" The aged lawyer said, laughing.

"Marino's down with a flu. Capello substituted and sent the five of us here. You DON'T want to know why. Ask the others, not me." Gianni said, walking off to check on the crowds. "Maybe they were assigned to act as bodyguards, or something." Patrick's tone was fleeting and distant. "That would be handy…" Mr. Bellucci said.

* * *

"I don't want to take a picture of him…He's going to brand me with the Illuminati Diamond or something!" Officer Fabia said, cringing. "Oh, you idiot. He won't. Just go and shoot." Officer Guerriero said, shoving the camera to her. Patrick came nearer, and the camera was now in Sandro Guerriero's hands. Fabia had shoved it to him.

"Uhhh…our substitute _commissario _wants to have a picture of you. Is it okay?" Sandro asked, looking quite flustered. "Alright, then…did she request for anything else?" Patrick asked, as Saturnino just snickered in the background. "Nothing else, _signore_." Patrick stood straight and gave his million-dollar grin. Multiple flashes…not just the _commissario's _camera.

"Thanks!" Officer Fabia said as he walked away. He gave a short wave and went on. As his feet hit the pavement, one officer caught his attention, as well as Attorney Bellucci's. The Inspector turned around and saw them both. She smartly went through the crowd but made a gesture for them to follow her.

They subtly moved out, reaching a dark alleyway. Upon reaching the unidentified location, Patrick embraced the woman who led them there. "Helena, I didn't sin a while ago by kissing you. I was dispensed before 10 last night." He whispered into her ear. "You narrowly escaped death and now sin. Lucky bastard! " She said. "I guess both words apply." He said, breaking the embrace.

"After a few more trials, we'll get the verdict. I'm sure that the Church will put excommunication, but the State…that's what we don't know." "Hope for the best, Attorney. I'm thankful for your help in this." Helena said, shaking the older man's hand. "It is my pleasure to help a _Polizia di Stato_ who really upholds the institutional ideals…while you," Saturnino looked at Patrick, "You are the personification of the word 'convicted'."

"Thanks." Patrick said. "Well, before my client and I go to our next engagement, may I have a picture of my two gorgeous companions?" Saturnino asked, whipping out a camera. "Gladly." Helena said. The former priest and the police officer stood beside each other, smiling. "Gorgeous? You must be exaggerating." Patrick said.

A short burst of light, then it was done. The two men ran off to the Vatican, while the female discreetly found her companions.

"Oy! Helena. Where have you been?" Bella said, playfully punching her best friend on the arm. "Making sure the path was clear." Helena said and then she called out to her other coworkers. "Sandro, Gianni, Teresa, our work here is done." The three others came quickly, and they returned to the station.

* * *

"He actually _agreed_?" Commissioner Capello blurted out, looking at the shot. "Yep! For a fugitive, he's quite nice." Sandro said, being the one who captured the moment. "Well, priests, no matter how _bad_ they could be, are still looked upon as nice by society." Teresa said.

The scant light entering Marino's office fell on Helena's face, which was turning red. "Why, is it so hot today that you're turning red, Gallego?" the heavy-built woman asked, studying her. _Don't hit my nerves, Marietta Capello._ "Hey, it's hot from crowd control. They were pretty rowdy." She said, giving a grin.

"Yeah, but that Patrick guy suddenly just silenced them by just walking in the midst of the plastic bottles. One of them hit me." Gianni said, giving a cheesy grin. "How did that happen?" Capello asked with furrowed eyebrows. "I don't know, but half the people there started drooling." Bella said, turning an eye towards Helena.

"Hmm…I'll ask Simon if he'll allow you for this kind of assignment." She said, texting on her mobile phone. "What kind of assignment?" the five asked, fearing for their lives. "You will have to be the security escorts for Father Patrick McKenna and Attorney Saturnino Bellucci when they are out for a trial in the State courts. The Swiss Guard shall take care of them in the Vatican."

"WHAT?!" the five asked, with obvious disdain. The silence afterwards was deafening. Officers Fabia, Guerriero and Valentin were frozen on the spot. Bella was stifling a giggle. Helena was feeling quite dizzy. _NO WAY._ Suddenly, Marietta's phone rang.

"No time for violent reactions. Marino agreed. He said you guys would make good crowd control and catching mix-with-the-crowd crooks. You are now dismissed."

"What a day." Gianni said, as they all left the room.

* * *

There were two days more of hearings for the world to see. The verdict would come out soon. Protesters gathered around St. Peter's Square, all against the former Camerlengo. Other protesters would gather around the court. Both would await the exit of the traitor, the demon, the great deceiver. The crowds could not be handled by just five policemen. Other Polizia di Stato officers and some Roman Carabinieri would assist, especially when the gatherings became violent.

Stones, bottles, rotten vegetables were the projectiles of choice of the people, often missing aim and hitting others. Rome's other tourist spots were somehow empty. Everyone had poured out into the Vatican, with the Pope addressing them. Justice would be delivered as soon as possible. The State court would give its verdict first.

It was a Monday morning, 9:34 AM exactly, that Judge Julieta Simeona Ferrero pronounced the verdict. "This court finds Father Patrick McKenna…GUILTY…beyond reasonable doubt on the charges of murder, fraud and conspiracy. The State shall sanction him, but since his offense was mainly against the Church, it will be the Holy Father who will pronounce his final judgment. If the Church dictates that State punishment shall be followed, he is then sentenced to _reclusion perpetua_. But if it is the Church to be followed, we will go with that."

The days of trial were now almost over. "Thank you, Attorney Bellucci." Patrick said, holding the old man's hand gratefully. "Whatever happens, be the best you can be, Patrick." Saturnino said. The banging of the gavel signaled the end of it all. The loud sound of wood on wood echoed throughout the courtroom followed by Judge Ferrero's ghastly stare.

"This trial…is finally adjourned." Another bang of the gavel. She walked down the aisle, giving a macabre grin at Patrick, whose eyes flickered for a second at her. Her grin was cut short when he looked at her. His eyes were pooling with sorrow and remorse, their blue hue standing out in the orange glow of the sun piercing through the room. _Oh no, you don't. You can't manipulate me, Patrick McKenna._

She was only disturbed by the geeky notary who tapped her on the shoulder. "Judge Ferrero, we have to go now. What were you staring at anyway?" he asked. "Nothing. Let's go now." She told him as they exited.

"Let's go too." Attorney Bellucci said. Patrick nodded at him and tied his white sweater like a scarf over his gray shirt. They stood up, not minding the people in their path, the media men who were pestering them with questions.

All angles of him were scrutinized; even the most trivial detail was covered. He had unconsciously made fashion statements during his trials. The simplicity of his style won raves from the glamorous Italian nation, with analysts calling him "the epitome of elegant simplicity with a bad boy touch". A favorite of society had been his hurriedly-hiked sleeves and his spiky hair.

His acts could have rivaled Hitler's, had it been genocide. He would forever be remembered for the greatest deception in human history. His name would be written in the history books; he would be remembered as the most notorious priest in the world and his angelic face would soon be plastered on effigies and publications.

But this wasn't what Patrick wanted. This was not the legacy he wanted to leave. He did not want to answer any more questions. He wanted silence. He had no time and no intention to answer interviews, yet he promised that he'd give a statement after the Catholic Church had given him the verdict.

As he walked through the crowd, amidst the noise and the bustle and the angry faces, he found Helena. She was fighting back her emotions. Time stopped as they looked into each other's eyes, the world didn't matter. They were too busy screaming.

"Satur! Come with us, we can bring you to the Vatican without getting a scratch on both of you." Gianni yelled, motioning to the two. "Helena, come with us. The Carabinieri and our teammates can handle this." He added, bringing the three to the mobile.

Gianni took the driver's seat, Helena rode shotgun and the two took the backseat. Gianni vamped up the sirens and turned on the ignition, finding routes which were not occupied by tourists, protesters and even shoppers.

"So, what did Judge Ferrero say?" Gianni said, taking off like a speeding bullet. "It would be life imprisonment, unless the Church thinks of something else." Saturnino said, clutching his forehead. "Of course the Church has thought of some punishment. I can bet € 100 on that." Helena said in a matter-of-factly way.

"Excommunication…" Patrick said. The word was quite dreadful, but his calm voice and his Irish accent, slightly diluted with Italian, made it sound mundane. Unfortunately, his delivery of the word could not stop Gianni's head from turning.

"Santa Maria!" he said, almost hitting a fire hydrant. "Stay on course, Gianni. Don't hit anything." Helena said, already prepared for this. "Hang on, we're almost there. Do you guys know any route which would avoid the crowds?" Gianni asked.

"We shouldn't go through St. Peter's Square. Go around the city. I can find a way to enter." Patrick said, on the edge of his seat to look at the site ahead. They took another road to the Holy See, one which was devoid of people. Patrick led them to the Vatican Gardens, running past the foliage and saluting a few gardeners who knew why they took the back door.

A few more twists, turns and trips, they found themselves at the Sistine Chapel, with two Swiss Guards looking at them oddly. "Guys, we were in such a hurry that we didn't even eat lunch yet." Gianni said. "I'm hungry. Can anyone go to McDonald's and buy me a burger?" Saturnino asked.

"Excuse me, you all look tired. You might want to sit for a moment," one of the Guards said. "Thanks." Helena said, as they all collapsed on the floor, as there were no chairs. "Maybe Patrick should go and buy us food. He's the only one who knows how to run from here and back." Gianni said.

"He's going to be mobbed and some women will threaten to rape him." Saturnino said, looking at Gianni as if he were mad. The two Swiss Guards feigned composure. "No wonder the Pope allowed you to stay here." Helena said, remembering Lucia, Angela, the lady in the post office and Commissioner Capello.

"Speaking of His Holiness, show your respect, guys!" Patrick said, as they all stood up. His Holiness was walking through the same corridor. "Good…morning, Your Holiness." They said in chorus and gave a short bow.

"Good morning as well…but I'm sure you're not having a pleasant one. Where have you been? You all look like you've been in some mass demonstration!" the Pope said, seeing that they all looked like they came out of a whirlwind.

"We were mobbed when we went outside the court…Gianni and Helena brought us here." Patrick said. "And because we were hurrying, we forgot to eat lunch." Gianni said unabashedly. "Why didn't you say so? I'm about to go to the dining area. Come with me." His Holiness said, smiling at them.

"THANK YOU, FATHER!" Gianni said, probably with a choir of angels singing "Hallelujah!" in the background. "Father, are you sure that it is okay with you?" Patrick said. "Yes, Father, it's quite embarrassing that we…" Helena added. "Nonsense…let's go." The Pope said, as the Swiss Guards saluted him. Attorney Bellucci was busy marveling at the interior of the Vatican complex.

Lunch was quite satisfying but things were more serious afterwards. The Pope readied for the trial. Saturnino stayed by the Sistine Chapel, still admiring the architecture. Gianni told Helena to catch up with him as they were supposed to return to the station. The question was: where in the Vatican were the two?

They were in the Gardens, strolling around the orange leaves that had fallen from some of the trees. The sun was high in the sky, a little past noon. No words came between them except for the last words of the lady before she returned to the car that had taken them there.

"You said 'yes' when I asked you if you want to be remembered for something better. Whatever the decision is…it's the turning point." And she was gone in an instant, like a candle flame in the wind. He ran back to the Sistine Chapel, just in time.

* * *

He was expecting it. The world was too. Every human being watching him held his or her breath; the punishment was to be dropped like a bomb. The time had come. This was it.

_**"Guilty."**_

"Guilty beyond reasonable doubt on the grounds of murder, fraud, conspiracy and distortion of the faith…Father Patrick McKenna, former Camerlengo of the Roman Catholic Church, former priest, you are hereby sentenced to 3 years of excommunication. You shall be treated as a _vitandus_. This means three years of non-reception and non-celebration of the sacraments, no communication with the Roman Catholic Church, as well as its members, whether clergy or laity. Your status as an excommunicated member ends at absolution from the Holy Father. Terms of your excommunication will be discussed after consultation with the Italian government. Your sentence will not begin immediately." The auditor read out the sentence in his baritone voice.

The Sistine Chapel was as solemn and silent as it was in the beginning. Then again, it could be attributed to the presence of some people who had fallen asleep.

No violent reactions came out of the attorney's and the criminal's mouths. One just sighed; the other prayed.

* * *

Many delighted in his punishment, a few were hurt, a few were saddened, others wouldn't care, but only one man was laughing, the only one in the world. As the fall breeze entered his hideaway, the chill of his gaiety could strike through any intruder's bones.

"You're lucky you live in the modern times, Camerlengo. A few centuries back and you would have been burned at stake. Here's to a life of depressing solitude." He raised a wine glass, half-filled with Amontillado, the drink of revenge, and drank it with a searing look in his eyes.

His computer suddenly alerted him of a message. It came from someone named Talia Pecolm. The man's thin pink lips became a twisted grin, signifying that he knew the person. "And Talia brings news…" he said, clicking the subject of the message. This was another step to attaining his plan.

* * *

After one day, the State and the Church had decided on the final punishment. It would be a three-year excommunication with the details provided by the Church. Yes, excommunication was partly light, so the government added exile. A coastal town in Greece, where people were Orthodox and he knew nobody, was to be his home for three long years. Negotiations with the other country took place, and they reluctantly allowed Patrick there, despite his reputation.

Patrick and Attorney Bellucci had parted ways, but with some communication lines open. He was now left with the Holy Father in his office. The Holy Father was giving him a long list of instructions.

"Patrick…it will be Tuesday tomorrow…your last day. You will leave for Greece at 9 in the morning on Wednesday. The helicopter of the Swiss Guard shall bring you to the town, since there are no airports near that town. It is also a town near a cliff, making a journey by sea difficult. The moment you hit Greek soil, you are considered excommunicated. Make sure you have said everything you needed to say to the Swiss Guards before you get off. When the day of your return is near, you will be notified."

"If you want to work, or whatever you think about, go do so. Find ways to support yourself. Adapt to the community, and most importantly, stay out of trouble. Are we clear on that, Patrick? Especially the trouble part." The Pope told him, more encouraging than pontificating. "Yes, Father. I'll stay out of those things." Patrick said, nodding.

"Before you go, you may want to say goodbye to a few people. You have twenty-four hours tomorrow to do so. We will expect you to be back here at 7:30 in the morning on Wednesday. I am sure there is at least one person in your mind whom you want to visit." "There are many, Father." Patrick said, remembering Mr. Franco, Chartrand, Lucia, Chiara, Feliz (who was of course, not human). He would also visit his father's grave tomorrow morning. _But there's only one person whom I won't forget to say goodbye to…_

"Well, then. Have a good rest tonight, son. May the Lord forgive you, but more importantly, bless you." He laid a hand on the ex-priest's head, breathing out another blessing.

_You made a new life for yourself after your fall…but I believe you will have to go a million miles before you reach the fullness of your existence. Good luck, Patrick.

* * *

_

That was a long chapter…wheeew!

So after my long absence, I have presented a chapter to at least, make it up to you guys. Yay! Thank you again for your support, guys.

-TDYSG


	9. Departure

I went through another busy week, but yet again, I bring you another chapter of this story. I'm grateful for all the comments I've received and I decided to PM those who left reviews. To **Annax1031**, I really didn't mean the similarity…I guess our thoughts must have collided. I also looked at it through another perspective, so we both can safely say that there was no imitation. Thanks for understanding.

Now, on with the story!

* * *

Chapter 9: Departure

"I still have time to say goodbye to you tomorrow, don't be crestfallen, Chartrand." He told the young Swiss Guard whose downcast eyes were staring at the floor. He squeezed the other man's shoulder, giving a melancholic smile, his blue eyes revealing all. "Patrick…_signore_…I want to thank you for everything you taught me…I learned much even with that short time that I knew you." Chartrand said, his voice low and soft.

Patrick's right hand positioned into a salute, one that was firm and swift. Chartrand saluted to his former superior, as Patrick turned around and left, disappearing into the sunlight streaming into the windows of the Holy See.

His hair was styled so differently from what the public had been accustomed to seeing; a pair of dark sunglasses and an outfit that deviated from his usual layered getup enabled him to walk incognito on the streets of Rome.

He headed immediately to Piazza Navona, where the people he needed to meet again were. His first destination was _L'eden di Pagine_, and he was certain that Mr. Franco would be there. It was already around 8:30. In the past, Patrick had to be there at 8 AM to prepare for the coming customers.

He remembered the half-hidden alleyway where the shop was found. It still existed, with bestsellers on display at the window and its 18th-century charm undiminished. The sign on the door read "Open". Patrick gently pushed the door and he saw a well-stocked bookshop which looked every inch the place of work he came to know. In the middle of all of that was a man, sweeping the floor dutifully.

* * *

The gray-haired, hazel-eyed bookstore owner lifted his eyes when he heard the door open. _Surely he can't be an applicant. I did not put a notice at the door. He must be a customer then._ He set aside his broom and looked at the man browsing the books. The books were still arranged the way his former employee did. This former employee of his was a systematic, orderly and gentle individual, who used the pseudonym Carlo Ventresca.

The person who came inside did not take long in looking at the books. "_Signore_ Franco…" he said. _It can't be…_Augusto would recognize that voice anywhere. The calm, smooth syllables coupled with a diluted Irish accent only belonged to one person. "A-a-a-are y-y-you…" the old bookworm stammered, too stunned to finish his question.

"Yes, _signore_, I am." Patrick said, removing his sunglasses. Augusto needed no more proof. He was speaking to the most despised man in the world, currently in front of him.

"Do you remember last week, I told you that your perception of me would change. I'm sure it did. I'm sorry for leaving _L'eden di Pagine_ as well." He sighed. "I understand, Patrick…but why are you here again?" Mr. Franco asked. Another sigh escaped the younger man's lips.

"I want to say goodbye, _signore_. My excommunication would take effect tomorrow. It won't be a short one…three years of not talking to any Catholics, three years of separation from my mentors and all the people I know... If you want your €180 back, I can give it back to you as soon as possible. I am in your debt, Mr. Franco." Patrick said.

"I don't want it back. Whether you were a saint or a fugitive, you deserved it anyway. It might be useful during the first few days of your excommunication. If you really want to pay me back, I have a simple proposal: Reform yourself and prove the world wrong." Mr. Franco said, holding his broom once again.

Patrick nodded, thanking the old man for everything. "I can't stay long. I have to bid goodbye to other people whom I met in this stage of my journey through life." He said. "Go then…and remember us." The old man kindly smiled as his former cashier left, looking back and waving, putting on his sunglasses.

_Your radiance has not diminished a single bit. You still look like a heaven-sent angel even after all that you had gone through. Go, Patrick, you were destined to do greater things.

* * *

_

Piazza Navona was always a lively scene even during weekdays, when most people should be at work. It was filled with people, as well as a mother and child who were walking to the child's school. They were conversing in Italian.

"_Mamma, la fontana mi ricorda di qualcuno_.[1]" the short, chubby child said, her blonde pigtails swaying from side to side as she walked. "_Chiara, chiunque lei è ricordato di, lo tiene via dalla sua mente. Non vogliamo ricordarchi è_.[2]" The child's mother said. She was a petite, stylish woman with hair as pale as her daughter's.

Lucia Brunetti glanced at her watch. She let out a small gasp and told her daughter to hurry up. They were breathlessly running across the piazza in a split second. In their rush, Chiara dropped one of the books she was carrying.

People were oblivious to the fallen object, except for one man who was propping himself on one of the lampposts. He had been observing the mother and child, and he saw the book fall. He walked and picked it up; nonchalantly following the path they took.

Lucia and Chiara were already at the far end of the piazza when Lucia thought something was missing on Chiara. "_Il mio Dio, ci affrettavamo così molto che abbiamo fatto cadere il suo libro_! [3]" Lucia exclaimed, looking more exasperated than ever. They were about to turn around and look for it when someone tapped Lucia on the shoulder.

"_Scusarmi... Credo che questo appartenga a lei_. [4]" He politely said, handing the book. "_Grazie_…" Lucia said, giving the book to Chiara. The man was a good deal taller than her. He had reddish hair tussled and tossed as if he had just escaped a storm. His eyes were covered by dark glasses. _His accent…could it be?_ "Hey…you remind me of that guy who--" Chiara said, her sentence cut off when he removed his eyewear.

Those blue eyes were enough to prove his identity.

"You're that guy!" Chiara said. Lucia clutched Chiara's hand and led her away. "Lucia, I didn't come here to cause harm. All I wanted to do was say goodbye. You won't see me in three years." He said. Lucia stopped and turned to look at him. "I'm sorry, that was prejudicial of me...Patrick, right?" She said, saying his name quietly. He nodded.

"When I get back, I'll meet up with you both…if I can," he then went on one knee to look at Chiara, "As for you, Chiara…be careful. Don't talk to people who can harm you. I promise I won't do anything as bad as that ever again…" she immediately squeezed him into a hug. "Come back as soon as you can." Chiara said.

"Time will fly. Remember that." The despised man said, brushing the stray strands of her hair aside. He stood up and said, "_Arrivederci_," followed by a last glance and a smile. He put on his glasses and left them. Lucia and Chiara then headed to the school, only to find out that they could not hold classes since there was a glitch in the school's electricity supply.

He disappeared into the crowd, blending in with the populace. The whole day he went around Rome to absorb all the sights before he went away. For some, three years would be like three days, while for others, three years was already an eternity. He did not know what it would be like for him.

Sometimes, he'd pass by fountains and remember old tales that when you throw a coin in one of them, you'd return to Rome. He just smiled, knowing that even without doing so, he'd be back anyway, but knowing that the money thrown into this fountain helped the needy Romans, he tossed a Euro into it.

* * *

Night fell and Patrick knew where he had to go. After a long afternoon at Villa Borghese, he decided to go to another place he had called home. He had been reflecting and pondering by the Temple of Aesculapius, within the Villa, its still emerald waters touched by the ducks that were yet to fly south for the winter. The fall had created a landscape of yellow, orange, and brown with the stark contrast of the lake. He also stood on the _Pincio_, a breathtaking view waiting for him: the city of Rome.

He had fallen asleep near the lake and woke up quite late; it was already 9:00 in the evening. The cool air had fanned him. He was lucky no gardener had found him, or else he would have been mobbed or other things.

He returned to the flat he had lived in for the past few weeks, and when he saw the lights on, he was certain that she was home. He glanced at his watch, it was 9:30 and the sky had no more light to give out.

* * *

It was carrying a newspaper in its mouth, not really new, but it had a picture of a court trial on the cover. It dropped the publication on the floor and barked, breaking the silence of the house. It then lay on the floor and whimpered, its paw near one of the people on the photograph.

"I know you miss him, but he won't be coming back any soon. Maybe the next time we'll see him is in three years, Feliz." Helena said, letting loose her hair. Feliz's ears were usually perky and pointed, but this time, they were dropped. "I know, Feliz…let's go to sleep. He's going to leave tomorrow." She said ruefully.

She had turned off the living room light when the doorbell rang. _Who could that be? Quite late…_Feliz walked beside her as she peeped before turning the knob. A dog like Feliz wouldn't have understood why his mistress had turned red.. When the door swung open, he understood why.

As he entered, Feliz just had to pounce on him. "Oh, how are you? I hope you've been well these days, Feliz." Patrick said, embracing the young dog. "Well, I missed him too. Believe me, there are no frisky, lively dogs in the Vatican…the only kind of dogs I'll ever see there are bomb-sniffing units who could jump at the sight of you."

"It's been a long day…let Patrick have some rest. You guys can bond again in the morning." Helena said, as Feliz dutifully obeyed. He barked goodnight to them, as his human companions went upstairs.

They did not talk when they went upstairs. The heavy footsteps and the downcast eyes were enough to know what emotion pervaded the house. They went to their separate rooms. Patrick still had to take a shower and dress for the night. He was lucky to have left a few articles of clothing in Helena's house.

Helena, on the other hand, just needed to climb into bed and close her eyes, but she couldn't sleep. Instead, she took out something from her drawer. It was a necklace, one of her favorites. It was a cross, which would remind someone of a stained glass church window. It had a deep blue base, with the cross itself being a smooth, clear crystal, with copper, silver, deep blue and light blue tones inside. Her mother said that it was from her real father. He sent the necklace as an apology when Helena was one year old.

She put it back in the drawer, the blue tones of the necklace reminding her of his eyes. Tomorrow could be the last day she'd ever stare into those beautiful windows again. _What if he'll like it in Greece? Maybe I should let him go…he is a man…he can love another. Intertwining our fates would just cause him pain… I want him to be free._

She stood up and left her room. She knocked on his door, trying to know if he was asleep or awake. There was no answer, so she quietly turned the knob and saw him praying. He had just finished doing the sign of the cross. He then looked at her. "Come in…" he said, sitting on the bed and motioning for her to sit beside him.

"I have to be back at 7:30 tomorrow." He said, knowing he had nothing much to tell. "I'll bring you there so that you won't be seen on the streets. I don't want you to be battered before you undergo something you consider worse than a beating." She said, giving a joyless grin.

"You should sleep now, you know." She added, squeezing his shoulder. "I can't sleep. I'm worried. I'll be in a foreign land, away from all those whom I love and care about." Patrick said, sighing and circling his arm around her.

"Don't be, but I know that it's painful to be separated." Helena said, as he laid his head on the pillow. She sat beside his recumbent form. He then sat up to face her.

"Helena…I don't want to make this difficult for you. When I leave, you're free to love another. You deserve someone who can really take care of you. I'm not worthy. I don't want you to be in pain because of me." It was difficult for him to say those words. He was stroking Helena's cheek as he said those. He could feel her eyes become moist.

"I'm sorry for making you cry…I told you I'm not the man for you. The man whom you need should never make you cry." His voice was less serious than a while ago. Helena gave a small laugh. "That's impossible. At one point or another, whoever he is, he'll make me cry. Do you know I've forgotten how to cry? Thanks for teaching it to me. It made me feel more alive." She said, as his arms took her in.

"Patrick…I can let you go if you want me to. You might enjoy it in Greece and want to stay there…at least if you're free from my influence, you don't have to worry…" but he hushed her. "Maybe we should talk about this in the morning…not tonight. We have to sleep. I don't want you to stay wide awake crying." He said, letting her go from his embrace.

He lay down on the pillow while she stayed in place and stared at him. He was surprised that she did not leave the room. "You can sleep here if you want to." He said, as she lay down beside him, closing her eyes immediately.

"Helena…but if you don't want to let go…would you still remember me?" Patrick asked as her eyes flung open. "I will…Patrick…always remember what I told you… If everything fails, if nobody believes you…I'm here. Though we'll be barred from communicating, there will always be a way for us to hear each other." Helena said.

"I will…goodnight, Helena…" "Goodnight, Patrick." She said, her eyes closing for the night. He slept as well, both of them so still and serene in slumber.

* * *

About seven hours passed in complete darkness and silence, and thank goodness, nothing ungodly occurred in that room. Patrick woke up first, gazing blankly at the still-dark panorama given by the window. He looked at his beloved Helena, his slumbering goddess _No, not goddess…Muse. She brings inspiration, not demanding worship._

He had to shake the sleep off her since he had they had to leave early. So, he propped himself on a pillow, inadvertently looking too attractive for anyone's tastes. He was supposed to use his patented way of waking her up: telling her she was late, but since this was not an ordinary day for both of them, he pressed his lips to hers, telling her to get up in a low, silken voice, but with a hint of sorrow.

It was easy to wake her up that way. She tried to open her eyes, trying to remember a dream from last night. "I dreamt that someone kissed me and told me to get up with that voice which reminds me of all the angels in heaven. Man, whoever that is, I sure want to wake up beside him every morning." She said absent-mindedly. When she saw Patrick looking like he pulled off a great prank, she gasped and sat up.

"FORGET I SAID THAT," she said, "Go take a bath and dress up. Make sure everything you need is in your bag…your other clothes…the works. I'll just take a shower and prepare us for the day." There was warmth rising in her cheeks. "I'm sorry. Did I embarrass you that much?" Patrick said, seeing her face turn red.

"No…it's alright. I can't believe that even came out of my mouth." Helena said, as if she wanted to go to confession then and there. "Really, I apologize. You were right when you said I'm not aware of what I do." Patrick said, giving her that smile which was a hundred times more potent than any drug that the _Polizia di Stato_ had come across.

He exited the room and entered the bathroom while she entered another room to take a bath and hopefully wash her head and mouth. _Helena Maria Gallego y Nieves, _[5] _your foster father would laugh if he hears you say those words, your mother would faint if she found out you have a former priest for a boyfriend, while your 2 siblings would immediately tell you to get hitched._

Feliz was very sad when Patrick said goodbye. Helena's assurance that he'd be back could not lift his spirit. "He found a brother in you…when he was still a pup, he was separated from his brother." Helena said, telling him why Feliz had always bemoaned Patrick's departure.

"I'm sorry, pup, but I have to go. I promise I'll come back so fast, you won't even notice time fly." Patrick said, with Feliz nuzzling him. "That's it…good boy. I have to go now. Be good. If I find out you're torturing Helena, I'm not going to walk you through the piazza." He said, smiling. The dog started wagging his tail again and barking. "Thank you, Feliz. Be a good dog. We'll go now." Helena said, bringing her police uniform with her so that she could go directly to work. She left Feliz with adequate food and water.

They went out the front door and entered her black Fiat, the same car that brought Patrick to Aurelia Hospital on the morning when he immolated himself. She drove to the same "back door" that they used to enter the Vatican on his last day of trial.

"Patrick, about what you said last night…I can't let go. I don't want to…I don't have to love another. You're more than good enough for me. Nobody would ever block a punch from a drunken idiot for me, and nobody would make me feel as loved as you did." Helena said, holding his hand while she drove smoothly.

"Had it not been for you, I wouldn't have had another lease on life. I would have given up my life, only to find out that it is in life that there is hope. I was always grateful for all you said and did but I never knew it would end up at this…" he said, tightening his grip.

"But you don't need to promise me anything…" Helena said. "You can do what you want to do. I'll be the one to adjust." Patrick said. "But all I know is that…"

"…when all else fails, I can always turn to you though the distance is great." They said together. Helena was so surprised, she almost hit another car. Luckily, Patrick was able to hold the wheel and steer them away. The next few minutes were a blur. They ran out of the car after parking and headed to the Apostolic Palace, knocking at the Pope's office.

* * *

"Congratulations, Patrick. You arrived earlier than I expected. It's just 6:59." The Pope said, looking at the antique clock in his office. "You will board the helicopter at 8:45 and take off at 8:55. I gave you all the details but here are others. You will be staying in Avia, a municipality in the Messenia prefecture in Greece. It's a coastal town, quite a tourist spot, but there's a somehow secluded village there. The person you'll be staying with will fetch you from where you land. The Guards will explain the other things to you. Would you want the three of us to pray?" Pope Paul VII asked the two, Helena and Patrick.

There was a short prayer, a blessing given. The Holy Father asked Patrick if he had visited all the people he needed to visit. "Well, all the living ones, yes…but not someone whom I must ask for forgiveness another time. If you will permit me, let me visit my father." Patrick said. The Pope called for Lieutenant Chartrand and they were on the way to the Papal tombs. Helena was permitted, provided that she would not take pictures and that she should remain from being boisterous, which was an adjective reserved for her friend Bella.

Going through the narrow, cold corridors leading to the tombs, Helena couldn't believe that she was going deeper and deeper into the basilica. The shadows of the monuments were ominous, and the whitewashed sarcophagi were forbidding. A recently-built tomb was seen straight up ahead, the photograph of the deceased bearing a striking resemblance to Patrick.

The four of them, the Holy Father, Chartrand, Helena and Patrick, knelt as they came to the tomb. "Forgive me, Father, for all that I have done. I am certain that you would not want to see me this way, but this is what I deserve…especially because it was my hand that killed you. Grant me your wisdom and strength so that I may go through this ordeal. This journey of a thousand days would begin on the first step. May I be fit to be part of the Church again when all this ends. Amen." Patrick prayed. His voice was barely a whisper.

They stood up and were about to leave the place, as solemnly and as quietly as they went in when Patrick said his last remark. "Before I go, Father…and hopefully, mother, you're both watching from above. I want to tell you something. Since I'm not a priest anymore, I can be with a woman whom I will love with my whole heart…"

The Pope, Chartrand and Helena immediately stopped walking and looked back. "Sir?" Chartrand said, perplexed. _I knew it. _The Pope thought, hiding his smile. "Patrick…I don't think your late parents would approve…" Helena said.

"I hope you don't mind if I introduce her to you…Helena Maria Gallego." Patrick said, turning to Helena and gesturing for her to come. She stood beside him. "Hi…Your Holiness…and Patrick's mom…wherever you are…your son's been a good boy since the incident. He saved me from drunken brawlers and found himself decent employment just so that he wouldn't be a burden." She said. Chartrand was snickering in the background. The Holy Father seemed amused.

"She's an inspector of the Polizia di Stato…she has a dog…she saved me from myself, paid for my medical bills together with her cousin and the nurse and many more things. I owe her a great debt. She made me feel more alive than I could ever be." He said, smiling. "Goodbye now, Father. I have to get ready for my exile." He added before he finally knelt and left.

They went back above ground. Chartrand, Helena and the Pope returned to the Papal office while Patrick got his other bags from his room. Helena talked to him in the Gardens while preparations for departure were being made by the Swiss Guard. It could be seen from the Pope's office that crowds had gathered in St. Peter's Square.

* * *

On a zip-down black sweater perched three orange leaves that fell down from the trees while a delicate hand with long, tapered fingers played around with a red leaf. They were two entities in the midst of perfect silence, only moments away from an imminent departure. He turned his eyes towards her, hoping that she would not be affected so much.

At last, she broke the silence. Some rustling was heard when she took out an item from one of her pockets. It was the necklace she had been fiddling with the night before, a crystal and stone cross of blue and gold tones glimmering in the sunlight. He wondered why she was holding that item so he studied it with probing eyes.

"It's beautiful…" Patrick said, admiring the necklace. "It's from my biological father but since then, it was my own. With it, I want you to remember all we've been through even in a short period of time." Helena said, placing the necklace on his neck and locking it with the clasp. Patrick fingered the cross, reminiscing. When the voices of the Swiss Guards called out to him, he and Helena were at the porch of the Holy See in a few blinks. They stood behind one of the massive columns, hidden from public view.

Everything he would bring was already in the helicopter. It was already 8:42. "Do you remember the family tradition for first times I told you about a few weeks ago?" Helena asked. "If you mean slapping me again…OWW!" a sudden hit cut off his sentence. "It still hurts. How about the next part?" Patrick said, as she immediately pressed her lips to his.

"Good luck. God bless. Best wishes." She said, squeezing his hand. "Thank you." He said. He brought out something that he received from a florist within the Vatican. She had accidentally dropped a flower arrangement earlier when Patrick and Helena came by and helped her. In return, she gave him a single rose when Helena had run off. She was thinking they were late.

He put his warm lips on the tip of the petal and handed the crimson bloom to her. After a meaningful embrace, she walked on cautiously, disappearing into St. Peter's Square. She looked back and made sure he saw her.

He boarded the chopper, after the Holy Father appeared and prayed in front of the people. The door was closed, they were about to take flight. At exactly 8:55 AM, the helicopter headed to the coastal municipality of Avia in Greece. A few more instructions and reminders were given to Patrick.

It was an uneventful flight for the Swiss Guards, including Chartrand, but he just had to admire the Mediterranean waters, deep blue, dotted with a few islands and white coastlines. However, it was not the sight of the waters which made him amused during this flight. _The Holy Father asked me to give these things to the signore._ He remembered the materials he had stowed away under his suit jacket. It made him chuckle softly.

The pilot saw the mountainous, grassy area in the southern section of the Peloponnese. He was certain of the location when he saw Santava Cape extending to the sea. The chopper touched the high ground, near the sea, which was fortified by the rocks which had stood the test of time.

The helicopter door was opened, the blades whirring slower. The guards and the pilot all gave a salute to the former camerlengo, whose things were already brought down. He would go down last because just one step on Greek soil meant that he was an excommunicated member of the Church.

"Wait, _signore_. The Holy Father wanted you to have these things. He said these could be useful." Chartrand said, trying not to laugh. What were those things anyway? Patrick just had to think why the Holy Father would give him a leather-bound book with blank pages, a pen, a charcoal pencil, and a wood-bound sketchpad.

"Oh well, something to fiddle around with while I'm unaccepted and jobless." Patrick said, grinning. "Do you wish to leave behind a message or so?" Chartrand asked. "First…thank you to all of you here. Stay safe on the journey back. Second…thank the Holy Father…and third…Chartrand, you know where Helena is…tell her I arrived safely." He said, enumerating his messages.

"Yes, signore. They will reach the people involved. Are there any other messages and requests?" Chartrand said, lowering his head. "None. Thank you again. See you in three years. I'm ready to go." With the sun shining on his face and the wind in his hair, Patrick waved goodbye, a dazzling entity.

He went out of the chopper. His sneakers hit Greek soil with all reserve and dignity. The Swiss Guards gave no more words. They shut the door and took off to the skies, back to the Vatican. Patrick watched them fly away, as well as surveying the sapphire ocean that presented itself to him, as well as the rugged terrain.

* * *

He was breathless as he ran to the site where he was supposed to the fetch the former priest. _Dratted alarm clock! It didn't ring on time. Great, I guess he's now climbing the olive trees to pass time._ He was a 54-year old man, starting to slow down already, with some gray hairs on dark brown swirls. The trees were starting to disappear, meaning he was very near. As he saw the clearing and the cliff, he also saw a small pile of bags, writing materials and a man staring into the distant horizon.

He took out a photograph of the camerlengo from his pocket. _It's him alright…why did they ask me to babysit a murderer? Had I been a Catholic, I would NEVER have allowed it…oh right, he's excommunicated. Only non-Catholics can talk to him…Please don't cause trouble here, young man._

He walked closer to the younger man. "Patrick McKenna?" he asked as the spiky-haired gentleman turned around and looked at him. "I am the person you will be staying with for these three years. My name is Vasilis Stavros. If you are wondering how I became your host here, I worked in the _Domus Sanctae Marthae _[6] for a few years, but then, I came back and lived here."

"Well, at least I know I am good hands. Thank you for accepting the request, Mr. Stavros. I'm sure others would have turned it down at the drop of a hat. I guess I'll have to learn Greek." Patrick said. "Very well then, Patrick. Don't worry, people can speak English here since there are many tourists who come." Vasilis said, leading the way back to the town. "Are there other things that you want to achieve here?"

"Live my life better…and get a job, hopefully. I don't want to be so much of a burden to you, Mr. Stavros." Patrick said. "I think I know of an open position somewhere in the town. For now, I will orient you to your temporary home." They stopped at a strategic spot, where he saw the whole of Avia, a municipality firmly rooted in Greek traditions without losing its touch of modernity. "Welcome to Avia, Patrick." Vasilis said as his companion was speechless.

* * *

_Avia was already enveloped by the night but Rome was still enjoying a few sconces of sunlight. Helena had taken advantage of the light together with her partner, Bella, on the last hour of their patrol in St. Peter's Square. The crowds vanished after Patrick's departure, as if no incident happened._

_They were now watching the sun set over the dome of St. Peter's Basilica, the marble glowing in the faint light. "You know, Helena, whoever offered him shelter won't be sued for obstruction of justice. He himself asked for justice to be delivered." Bella said, without looking at her companion. "Thanks for that piece of information, Bel." Helena said, smiling at her partner. "Oh come on, isn't it obvious that it was you?" Bella said softly._

_"To you…it is…to others, not." Helena said. "But you were lucky to know the real Patrick McKenna…beyond the reports and the newsfeeds. I guess he must have been a great companion, a great friend, by what you experienced." Bella said, sighing dreamily. "He is," Helena replied. _

_"Helena, tell me the truth. Do you love him? And if you do, does he love you back?" she asked, as they walked to the police car. They went into the car doors and sat. As the doors were being shut, Helena answered, "I do…and he does."_

_"But…separation for three years, Helena! How do you think it's going to work?" Bella said, the seatbelt slipping from her hand when she heard Helena's answer. "We gave each other the option to be free so that if one would love another, we'd understand." She said, giving a melancholic smile._

_"Choose wisely, Len…if I were you, I would have NEVER given him the option to be free. He's just too good to let go of." Bella said, laughing. Helena found herself giggling as they drove back to their station. "Alright, time to be serious. Go with what you think will be best for you. I know that you can do it. I've seen you make decisions. Prove to me again that I was right in saying that."_

Helena thought of those words, said a few hours ago. She was standing on her room's little balcony, gazing at the crescent moon, holding the scarlet rose in her fingers, the petal touching her lip. She could still feel the warmth of his lips on it. _Three years…but they will be worth the wait. Hopefully, he'll come back a better person._

One time zone ahead and a few thousand miles away, Patrick was also gazing at the moon, on the balcony of Mr. Stavros' house. He held no rose, but a cross. _I told you, I won't love another. You'll be the first person outside the Vatican whom I'm going to find when I get back._

One might as well think that star-crossed was not a word in their dictionary. No, it was not, and never will it be.

* * *

Well yeah, somehow dramatic chapter. It's a departure…so expect that. Thanks for all the support, guys. The end of this story is next… but a sequel is in the works. ^_^

Translations/Notes:

[1] "Mom, the fountain reminds me of someone."

[2] "Chiara, whoever you're reminded of, keep him off your mind. We don't want to remember who he is."

[3] "My God, we were hurrying so much that we dropped your book!"

[4] "Excuse me; I believe this belongs to you."

[5] In olden Filipino times, and in Spain, people's names would be written in this order (given name/s: _Helena Maria_) (father's surname, in Helena's case, foster father's: _Gallego_) ("y" is used to separate the surnames of the parents) (mother's surname: _Nieves_). Remember that in the first chapter, it was discussed that she was half-Spanish.

[6] The _Domus Sanctae Marthae_ is the residence of the College of Cardinals during Conclave. Its construction was commissioned by the late Pope John Paul II. The Vatican does not limit its employees (except the Swiss Guard) to Catholics.


	10. An Angel's Redemption

Sorry my friends, but the time has come to lift the pen off the paper and close the book. I would want to thank EVERYONE who reviewed, put this on alert, favorite it or just took the time to read the first few paragraphs. If I just had enough talent, time and money, I could have thought of an appropriate token of appreciation.

Wait, I do have a token of appreciation…A SEQUEL!

Yes, a sequel is in the works; hopefully I could straighten it out in two weeks or so. I think the sequel would be better than this one since it will be very dynamic, suspenseful, but with comic relief and romance every now and then. I wish you guys would also read it.

* * *

Chapter 10: An Angel's Redemption

"Oi! Instead of brooding here on the cliffs, you should be hunting for a job! Do you know that in just one week, you have enough female_** and**_ male admirers to last you a lifetime?" Vasilis Stavros yelled to Patrick McKenna, the latter sitting on the ground, charcoal pencil in hand, looking into the distant seas.

It was already sundown, with the flaming sky matching the fading leaves of the trees, sharply contrasting with the black, rocky cliffs and the grayish-blue waters. Birds were already flying south as the air gave a distinct chill. The orange light shone on his face; the wind blew his hair.

"I thought nobody wants a dangerous man." Patrick said, looking back and arranging his materials, ready to go with Vasilis. "Oh, they do now…and you can spare yourself the trouble of looking for a job. You've got three job offerings. That's how badly they want you." The elder man said, emphasizing his last sentence.

"Alright, then, I'll see which of them would suit me." Patrick said, standing up and joining his host. "Before we go, let me see what kind of stick figures you've been drawing for the past few days." Vasilis said, his large, tanned hand grabbing the sketchpad. As he went through the drawings, he bit his tongue. As a high-ranking staff of a local inn, he needed to have a taste for art.

Though not enough to rival Da Vinci, Patrick's drawings, accompanied by poems and crude soliloquies written in elegant script on the corners, made Vasilis say, "You're not much of an artist…but I admit you're creative. I'm sorry for what I said earlier." He then looked at the first work: Patrick's self-portrait.

_Hmm…at least you're not like other artists who exaggerate their looks. _He then went on, seeing pictures of his own house, much like other Greek residences, painted in white. There were landscapes, like rough sketches of Avia, the surrounding woodland, and of course, the sea. But the one that Patrick finished that day was the most striking to Vasilis.

On the paper was a woman, wearing the uniform of a police force. Her hair was wavy, luxurious and black, falling gracefully on her shoulders. She had deep, brilliant eyes, an aquiline nose and full lips. She had no jewelry on her. _She must be either Italian or Spanish._ "Vasilis, is there anything wrong with the portrait?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow. "No…it's a good one. Who is she?"

"She's the one who saved my life. I lived with her for a while. Before I left, we were officially steady." Patrick said, smiling with pride. Vasilis tried to picture the woman beside Patrick. _Not bad. They look good together. _He returned the sketchbook. They walked back to town, trying to know which job would suit Patrick.

* * *

An employee of the Internet Office of the Holy See was creating new webpages for the Vatican site, mostly on the latest news. He was also checking the e-mail of the Internet Office for comments/suggestions and the like. He clicked on one, which had the subject: _Site Comments and Suggestions for Improvement_.

He saw an attachment in the e-mail, which the sender said, would include his suggested ways to improve. _He has enough space in the text box to type that…then again, many people are lazy typists. Let's see what this guy has to say._

He downloaded the video and watched it afterwards. What he expected, he did not see in the file.

The room was gray, as if made from stone and it was dark. It didn't help that the only light there was a melting candle. There was also an empty chair in the middle, facing right. A tall figure blocked the camera view, only to sit in the middle of the chair. His profile was fuzzy in the weak illumination.

_Oh, come on. Stop the drama and start giving your suggestions so I can work on it pronto._

"**Fool. I didn't send this to give you site suggestions."**

The Internet Office employee was about to close the video in irritation upon hearing the opening lines, but his colleague saw him. "Lucio, what kind of video is that?" a jovial, middle-aged man named Juan asked. "Is it a scandal?"

"You know that we will be fired if we were watching scandals. It's about a man who's supposedly going to give comments about the website, but turns out he wasn't. So, I'm going to delete it. He wasted about 15 minutes of my time," said the sneering Lucio.

"Let's watch it. The opening line might be a joke or something." Juan said, dragging a nearby chair and sitting beside Lucio. The latter sighed, restoring the file and watching it again. "What's the guy doing in the dark?" Juan asked. "I don't know…" Lucio said, letting the video roll.

"_I sent this to give a little commentary on your fallen angel. Maybe you don't remember who he is. Let me remind you…"_

"Fallen angel?! This man is crazy!" Juan retorted. "SHUT UP, JUAN." Lucio said. "What's the problem?" another officemate of theirs asked. Their whole office went to Lucio's computer, watching the video, with the explanations rolling along.

"…_he set up all the conspiracies you went through a month ago, a demented mind. A hypocritical, disgusting and irrational priest who was so charismatic, intelligent and eloquent. You're a liar if you won't admit that he's gorgeous, with an angelic face."_

"This guy must be gay. Let me get some popcorn. This sounds exciting." One of them said. "There's no popcorn here. Get back here." Juan said, as their co-worker came back. "Who on Earth is he talking about…irrational, gorgeous, charismatic priest…the camerlengo?" another said. "Who wants to take revenge on someone who's already punished?" "I do…because he didn't lay his hands on me before he left." A female co-worker said. They were hushed by Lucio, who was ardently listening.

"_His crime was so grave, stooping to the lowest means to achieve his delusional dream of correcting the moral wrongs of science. Why didn't the government imprison him for life? Of course, how could I forget? The government allowed the CHURCH to give the verdict. I'm sure there's an indecent sum of money involved, knowing the Holy See has a lot of that."_

"_Don't get me wrong, though; I know the Church can punish…excommunication is alright, but just three years! He deserves a lifetime! Hmmm…I can only make one conclusion: He was a favorite of this corrupt Church…why? He's the Pope's son! He wasn't even supposed to be the camerlengo in the first place…he's not even a cardinal!"_

_A low, sinister laugh escaped the man's lips._

"_Oh, I will have my revenge on him. Let me carry out the deed. These things will be known all over the world…and multitudes will rally in St. Peter's Square. They will know what kind of Church you are. They will know what kind of people you are. You don't know what I am capable of." The man's tone was confident._

"_Thank you for your time…and have a nice day." He blew out the candle in the background and gray smoke, almost invisible in the darkness, floated around the screen. The video stopped._

"What the hell? I'm calling for a Computer Systems specialist from the Governorate. That could just be a prank…or whatever. We could track that guy down and put him in jail." Juan said, standing up, while everyone looked like they saw an actuarial mathematics textbook. "Track the guy's e-mail address, you might find something about him."

Lucio, a former hacker, tried to access the sender's details. He was convinced by the Office to "change his online ways and find redemption". He was initially reluctant, but afterwards, decided to stay. He was protected by one of the most powerful entities in the world, and he had pay somehow better than his salary in Rome.

But to his surprise, he could not access anything about the sender. The only thing they all knew was the ominous username of the sender: vos_mos_cado. They had no idea what it meant. It was also time to use the power of the Internet.

Victor Santi, a high-ranking employee of the Computer Systems office arrived in 10 minutes. A quick-thinking employee translated the Latin username over the wonder called the Internet while Victor tried to know where the video came from. Some Internet Office employees were at the edge of their seats, knowing this was a nail-biting moment.

"The environment of the video suggests a castle…" Victor said, his English heavy with Italian inflection. "Castel Sant'Angelo?" Juan asked. "No. I've been there. This place doesn't even seem in Rome. Hmmm…" Soon, he found out that the sender was in Italy, but not in Rome, not even the Lazio district. He was far from the metropolis.

"Whoever he is…and whatever he wants to do…he's not a prankster. He didn't give out personal details immediately. He wants to keep it a secret until his plan unfolds, I guess. Don't take the video lightly. I'll call for the Swiss Guards and the Gendarmerie." Victor said, leaving. "Guys, I found out what _vos mos cado_ means!" someone blurted out as the others went back to their computers.

"What does it mean?" Lucio asked, now pale from the things found.

"_You… will fall._"

* * *

Another version of the video spread around the Internet; it was more aggressive and more critical than the first one. Its words were not just against the camerlengo, it bashed the whole Roman Catholic Church, even its lay members. The man recounted _La Purga_, indulgence, Luther's _95 Theses_, The Great Schism, The Crusades, the Borgia family and the Vatican's immeasurable wealth. This version ended with the lines: _Is this true religion? True faith? If you think it isn't, do something!_ This was more than enough to send people rallying in St. Peter's Square.

This was what the man wanted. His chilling laugh echoed around the stone room of his mountain retreat. Nobody could hear him but he laughed as if his enemy was lying dead and bloody in his arms. _Soon, the Church shall fall…and the finale will come._

* * *

"Officers, until this little conspiracy plotter gets caught, all police in Italy will be on red alert, and that includes all of you." Commissioner Simon Marino said. "Any guesses on who he is?" he added. A few of the officers started scratching their heads until someone said, "Father, I mean ex-Father McKenna?"

"Probably…but any excommunicated person is not allowed to communicate with the Vatican or any Catholic. I heard that there was another version of the video sent to the Vatican's Internet Office." Marino said, quite in disbelief.

"Now, half of this force will be on patrol. Tomorrow, it will be the other half. Get rolling with me at 10 AM." He added, going back to his office. Inspectors Gallego and Moretti, Officers Fabia, Valentin and Guerriero were some of those who were left behind.

"Great, another anti-Vatican conspiracy planned all over again. Why would anyone want to blow up a country that doesn't even reach the area of 1 square kilometer…and without a formal military force?" Officer Fabia said, rolling her eyes as the five of them walked back to their desks. "This is just a big publicity stunt…I'm betting that the plotter's just a guy from a shunned religion or something." Officer Valentin said.

"Let's just hope that this guy's not going to steal a grain-sized piece of antimatter. We don't want Rome obliterated, don't we?" Officer Guerriero said, as they all sat at their desks, continuing whatever work they should be doing that time. Bella headed to her best friend's desk.

"I hope you're both doing well. This is a great challenge for both of you." Bella told Helena, her voice low and soft. "Thanks. Don't worry, I'm alright. I just don't know if he is, but I'm sure he's in good hands, probably doing something worthwhile." Helena said, as her partner left.

* * *

If Helena knew what Patrick was doing during those days, she would have considered it worthwhile. He was working in a slightly-obscure café, the smell of Liberica coffee beans sticking to his uniform: a white dress shirt with cuffed sleeves above the elbow, a black vest, black pants and shiny leather shoes. Spiky hair, bright eyes and a coy grin were permanent parts of his everyday wear.

Since cooler days were up ahead, he had a long-sleeved sweater draped on his neck and shoulders. It seemed like a scarf. It added a unique touch to his uniform, distinguishing him from the rest of the staff.

His task was mostly to brew the coffee, but he'd personally bring the coffee to the tables when all the others were busy. There seemed to be an influx of tourists that month, and he had no idea why. One afternoon, when all the waiters were running back and forth from table to table, Patrick decided to help a bit.

Carrying a tray with the orders, he glided on the dining area of the café, which would remind anyone of a 19th-century Starbucks. Low lights, quaint tables, great ambiance and soothing music were some of the features of his workplace. He went around the tables, placing the cups with a gentle hand.

The last table he went to was one filled with six tourists, three female, the others, male. They were chatting away merrily as he put down their cups. Accidentally, one of them hit the cups and the warm liquid spilled on his left hand. It would have scalded him had it been steaming hot.

"Oh my…gosh. I am so sorry. Are you okay?" the one who hit the cup, a tanned blonde asked, taking some of the tissues on the table and wiping it on his hand. "It's alright. I wasn't seriously hurt, was I?" he said, wiping his graceful fingers and the wet table. He vanished for a few minutes and came back with another cup. "Have a nice day, guys. If it's your first time in Avia, I suggest you visit the olive groves in the east," he said.

When he left, the six were dumbfounded. They recovered their words soon and started talking. "He's not Greek." "He looks familiar. I think I saw him on TV." "I think he's the guy who burned himself…" "He is. He is. He is!" "Sssssh!" "He looks much better in person." "I think Catholics can't talk to him since he's excommunicated." "Well, none of us are Catholic." "Before we leave Messenia, we are coming back here. We'll make sure he's our waiter." "I think it's inappropriate to say but…amen to that!" "If I see another guy like that, I won't be a lesbian any longer." "If I see his smile another time, I'm going to be gay."

Needless to say, Vasilis was right. Patrick would be a little more famous than he expected. The former _Domus Sanctae Marthae_ employee started to admire his companion, somehow busy with work but still able to leave time for rest and play.

On weekends, he would either be in front of the café, or by his favorite spot on the cliffs. He had sketches of the interior of his workplace, self-portraits in his uniform, Vasilis' motorcycle (which he learned how to ride). His works reflected that he was well-adjusted to the new environment, but he never forgot his origins. Patrick drew Ireland as he remembered it, as well as Italy, especially Rome and the Vatican.

Vasilis had seen these and told the owner of the coffeehouse, who was his friend, to display a few of Patrick's drawings of scenic locations. They made interesting accents to the sometimes-bare walls. But among the contents of his sketchpad, Patrick's personal favorite was his portrait of himself and Helena on her balcony, staring at the eerily-glowing St. Peter's Basilica.

He was wondering if she was doing alright. She visited him in sleep numerous times. He would sometimes be lost in thought, remembering the memories they shared. He wished that three years would pass him by. Before he knew it, he would be walking the streets of Rome once more, looking for her.

One night, as he was standing on Vasilis' balcony, the house itself overlooking the small town of Avia, Patrick gazed at the sky, a spray of stars hanging on the dark ceiling of the world. It was a silent night, the only things he could hear were the rustling leaves and the chirping crickets. The thumping of Vasilis' work boots made him sigh, knowing that the silence would be broken.

"Patrick, come inside. You have to watch the news!" Vasilis said, calling the brooding man. "I know that there's some guy threatening the Vatican and it's not me. What else is there to know? You and I perfectly know that I can't do anything for them or against them right now." Patrick said, walking inside, nonetheless.

He sat on the sofa, the television set in front of them, not expecting something good to appear. He was right to expect such. Someone had left behind four bombs (which, thankfully, did not explode) at the Four Altars of Science. One in the recesses of the Chigi Chapel, one at the West Ponente, disguised as a tourist's bag, one behind the statue of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa and one in plain sight at the Fountain of Four Rivers in Piazza Navona.

Nobody had seen them placed there. The television showed shots of police officers examining the bombs. He saw the most familiar face in the world, examining the bomb with gloved fingers. "Oy, Patrick! Who are you staring at?" Vasilis asked. "See that officer, the one holding the bomb? That's her…that's Helena."

"Ohh."_ She's the one whom this kid loves. I never expected an ex-priest to have such taste in women. Even though Patrick's an excommunicated guy, I think she's lucky. He's hardworking, talented, and a little more brilliant than everyone else._ Vasilis thought, smiling.

"Vasilis, I'll just go back outside." Patrick said, disturbing his housemate's thoughts. "Oh, sure." Vasilis said, flipping through the channels. The former chamberlain walked back to the balcony, taking out the necklace from his pocket. _Helena, do you think we can stand the test of time and distance?_ The stars seemed to shine brighter, as if in reply to the statement.

* * *

It was already 9:00 PM and Helena was supposed to go home. She knew that Feliz was probably whimpering in the corner again or barking loudly for food. She and Bella had already pushed the door of the station open when Commissioner Marino called her.

"Inspector Gallego, our other negotiators are either at home or still at the crime scene, trying to gather information about the incident this morning. We have a suspect in the interrogation room, probably a lackey of the mastermind. You did specialize in negotiation and interrogation when you were in your police academy days, didn't you?" he said. She turned around to look at him.

"Yes I did. You know, commissioner, you could just have said, 'Gallego, interrogate this guy for me'. It would have made matters simple," she then turned to Bella and gave her house keys, "Do me a favor, Bella. Please feed Feliz, then you can leave." She dropped her keys into Bella's palm. "Sure," and Bella left.

"Alright…" Marino said, at another loss for words. "Let's go to the interrogation room now. The guy's there." Helena's shoes clacked loudly on the floor of the station, walking to the black door at the end of one of the hallways. Marino went into another door after giving her a set of papers. It revealed the man's background as well as the results of an earlier-conducted psychological test.

Officers Guerriero and Valentin saluted her as she stepped in front of them. They had the suspect with them. He was taller than Helena but not as tall as Officer Guerriero, who was 6'2". His raven hair seemed to be cut with a razor. He was tanned and lanky. Helena couldn't see his face since he was looking down, the shadows covering his eyes. He was wearing a black shirt and torn jeans, as well as dirty, faded sneakers.

The interrogation room was dimly-lit, with silver walls and black tiles. There was a mirror on one wall that allowed other officials of the station to observe, including Marino, who was currently watching. Officers Guerriero and Valentin locked the door as they entered. A table sat in the middle of the room, with three cold metal chairs, one each for the interrogator, a second interrogator and the suspect. The room itself was chilly.

On one of the chairs sat the suspect. Officer Valentin sat as the second interrogator. Helena was the main interrogator. Officer Guerriero was there to make sure the suspect would not cause trouble. She sat in front of the man, holding the sheets of paper in her hand. This interrogation was to be taped.

The suspect fidgeted in his chair, because it was too hard for his bottom. That was one of the techniques in the "Criminal Investigations and Confessions" manual. _Make sure the suspect is uncomfortable._ Helena would then use a few questions to make the suspect seem comfortable and establish the baseline.

Helena could put on a mask during interrogation, but outside the interrogation room, the mask existed no longer. It was time to put it on again. She read the suspect's background. _Hm…here's something interesting. Favorite color: pink_. She just had to smile.

"Good evening. So your name is Giordano Abandonato." "Yes, it is." He said, lifting his face to look at his interrogator. Her black hair was wavy, her brown eyes were beautiful. He thought that she couldn't be a threat. _How could such an angel be evil?_ _She can't be a good interrogator…but she is pretty. If I get out of this creepy interrogation room, I'm going to..._

Helena read his background. He was an abused kid in his youth. She looked at Giordano. His eyes were a dull, lifeless green, lined with black eyeliner. His lips were pursed. She suddenly remembered Patrick's eyes, a radiant blue-green. Those were the eyes she'd rather be staring into right now. "Your surname doesn't seem to fit you. Now, who would harm someone like you?" Helena asked.

Gianni Valentin had never seen an interrogator who could show such sympathy. _She's not showing sympathy. She's trying to get his sympathy._ He remembered. Sandro Guerriero stood straight at the door, trying to decipher how Miss Gallego thought.

"Well…my father was an alcoholic. My mother was a drug addict. They left me at the foot of a mountain. They called me a worthless kid. So…I spent my whole life trying to be of worth. I'd do anything, just for them to see me. I want to tell them, 'Hey, you remember the kid you beat up and left at the mountain forest…who almost died because of some hungry wolf! You guys are such…' I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!" he looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.

He went off his seat and sat knelt in front of Helena, looking into her eyes, which had not changed their expression. He was in tears. "Gianni, get the tissue box from the drawer." She said. She got the tissues out and started wiping his eyes.

"Here you go. Dry your tears. Crying won't help you. Now, I'm sure you can be of use. Everyone can. You'll have enough time to prove yourself to your parents. How old are you? Twenty-eight, right? You have a lot of time." She gave him the whole box as he wiped his eyes and nose.

"Well, how old are you?" he asked her. "I'm going to be thirty-six soon. Why? Do I look that old?" Helena asked, mock-offended. "No…no…no…sorry…I was just curious." Giordano said, worried that she was really offended. _I made a big mistake…never ever ask the age question…now she's going to use those scare tactics._

"I'm sorry I touched on a very sensitive topic, Giordano." Helena said, touching his hand. _Oh, I'm not sorry. Now I know where to hit you._ "It's okay. I've never talked about it much to anyone…at least, you understand." He said, starting to feel at ease. He gave a small smile. _Giordano…I'm not as stupid as you think._

She was now establishing the baseline by watching his verbal and non-verbal reactions. She asked a bunch of seemingly random questions but she was remembering his reactions. "Alright…thank you for answering those…now, let's shift to another set of questions. They'll be a bit harder, okay?" "Okay."

"When was the last time you ever held a dangerous object? It can be a knife, a gun, a pair of scissors." Helena asked, careful not to include the bomb. She saw him look to the left. _Thinking of an alibi, eh? Look to the right, I know you're remembering the truth. Look the left or up…you're trying to deceive me. Don't try me._ "The other day, I was cutting myself." He showed her the marks of a cutter on his wrists.

_It's undeniable that you did cut yourself…but you seem to have the smell of powder all over you._ She used that observation as another thing to hold on to. "Where were you when the bomb was discovered?" she asked. Again, he looked at the left. "I was at the Vatican." He said, looking quite confident, but his heart was pounding. _Liar. You were caught outside Santa Maria della Vittoria._ She knew he was trying to cover everything up. He was licking his lips and darting his eyes back and forth.

_Now, the real interrogation begins._

Officer Valentin said he was going to go to the bathroom, but he went to the room where Marino and other officers were watching. "How is she so far?" Officer Valentin said, seeing Commissioner Marino sitting quite casually. "So far, so good…she could be an actress." "I don't know, but probably she used that face of hers against him."

Helena now stood up and looked Giordano in the eye. She put the papers in the drawer. She moved around the room, her heels clacking loudly. Unlike other interrogators, she didn't just invade the privacy of the suspect with rigid acts. In fact, she almost seduced the suspect. He was sweating all over as she said the details of the crime with a low, ghostly voice.

_Patrick, don't worry, I haven't fallen for anyone yet. I'm just doing my job. You can be assured that it's only your lips I want to kiss._ She thought, moving away from the suspect, whose defenses were rapidly weakening. He was psychologically weak and she enjoyed that. Based on the content of the paper, which was actually also laden with evidence, she made a story of the crime.

He kept denying when his acts came up but she kept reinforcing her story, making the theme easier for him to relate. _I did not join the debate team for nothing._ Helena thought. He stopped denying at one point. It was impossible to argue with her. "But, I told you, I was at the Vatican this morning!" "Maybe you WERE at the Vatican earlier…but not at 9:25, when they found the bomb. You were caught at Santa Maria della Vittoria. Then again, it might not be you…" Helena said, her tone changing. "Oh that's right, it wasn't me." _Oh, you'll look for any way out of this. Sorry, no way. You won't._ "If you hadn't been running off like any guilty criminal would, they wouldn't have caught you."

"What if the suspect himself was chasing me?" Giordano asked. "Well, that wouldn't happen because as I said earlier, you ARE the perpetrator…and any reasonable person afraid for their lives would stick glued to the spot out of fear, right?" Her smile was sinister. "Who are you?" Giordano asked, as the angel turned into a demon.

"I'm not who you think I am…" she said, the fluorescent lights blinking. Giordano never felt so manipulated, as if someone was pulling his strings. He was frustrated. He couldn't think straight. She sat down, no longer looking like a demon to his eyes.

"Look…you told me you wanted to show your parents you could do something to put in their faces. Now…what are your parents notorious for, besides alcoholism and drugs?" Helena asked, her attitude changing in a snap. "Lying." He said, looking down. She sat closer and held his shoulder. "Lying? Do you know that right now, you have a chance to put yourself over them? The moment you tell me what I need to know…this will all be over. You will forget this ever happened."

"Do I?" Giordano asked, captivated. "Of course you do. Now, tell me the truth…did you place that bomb behind St. Teresa's statue?" Helena asked. "Yes…yes I did…" he said, looking at the right this time, which Helena took as a positive sign.

"Now, you have two options now that you told me the truth: you can keep telling me other things you know…or you'll deny the presence of other parties in the crime." Helena said. Officer Valentin (in the other room) saw the small hair flip that Helena did. "Excuse me, Commissioner. I think that's my call." He said as Marino nodded, enjoying the scene unfolding.

"Before you tell me other things, I'm bringing someone here who'll witness your confession. For all you know, I'm not a legitimate police officer." She smirked as Officer Valentin walked in. "Now, Mr. Abandonato, did you do it?" "I did." He said plainly. Officer Valentin gave him a sheet of paper and a pen, which would confirm the voluntariness of his statements.

He signed immediately, thinking that this confession could lead him away from a senseless life_._ They found out more about the crime and how he got into its web. It was 11:00 PM when the interrogation ended. He was sent back into the small, heavily-guarded cell in the police station. Helena gave Marino a report of the important things Officer Valentin noted after confession.

Giordano was hired by a man whom he met in Genoa, but the man never stayed in the same place for a long time. He was supposedly looking for house helpers but was actually looking for lackeys. The man was a great manipulator and successfully put crime into Giordano's mindset. He was also to be rewarded 400 Euros, had he been able to just leave it there without anyone noticing.

Marino was so pleased with the interrogation that he let Inspector Gallego have a day off. She thought that she really needed it. It was already 11:30 when she came home. Feliz was fed well, thanks to Bella, who left a note on the fridge about it. Feliz was now sound asleep.

Helena had prepared herself for sleep, but she did not sleep in her room. She went to the room that Patrick used. It was desolate without him. She was tired, wasted to the hilt, but her body would not let her sleep.

She suddenly felt the need to take one of the papers in that room and a pen. She had no idea, but suddenly, emotion took over her. Strong emotions lead to inspiration and tendencies to write. She wrote in her native tongue, but translated it into English. _Patrick, didn't we say that even if we can't communicate face-to-face, there are other ways?_

* * *

It was already almost 1 AM and Patrick was still wide awake, writing on the balcony, with only an ancient-looking lamp as his small yet bright light. Vasilis was yawning as he approached Patrick. "Patrick, it's already 1 AM. I know you miss her and now you're filling up that little diary of yours with poems. You can do that tomorrow. It's your free day tomorrow." Vasilis said.

"No, while I'm inspired, I should write. Tomorrow might take away what remains in my head. What I think of, I must write down. It won't take too long, Vasilis. I'll be in my bed soon." Patrick said. "Goodnight, then." Vasilis said, muttering something about lovesick, talented writers whose ideas may have entered Patrick's head.

Tonight was a night unlike other nights. The ink from his pen flowed freely on the paper. With the cross pendant near his paper, he knew there was only one that could come to mind. _Helena…if you were only writing at this moment, I could hear you._

That night produced two poems, one from Helena, one from Patrick. Both filled with longing, both coming from the heart.

_**Poem in Her Loneliness**  
_

_Pain you gave me when you left  
_

_Your kiss still on that rose petal  
_

_A purposeful existence departed  
_

_While you walked out  
_

_Tears in my eyes form and drop  
_

_Every time I remember your lovely face  
_

_Remain steadfast, do not change  
_

_Keep that noble heart beating  
_

_I think that when God defined perfection  
_

_He was thinking of you  
_

_Created with a purpose  
_

_Strengthened by adversity  
_

_Key to my heart, none other_

_I await your distant return_

**_Poem in His Seclusion:_**

_Heaven on earth, my heart felt_

_When I lived again_

_Eager to find my savior, I found you_

_An angel from above_

_Love, I once denied its existence_

_Until it came in the form of your soul_

_Effortless, you looked, strong_

_You never ran away_

_Now I'm without you_

_I yearn to return to your side_

_Alone, cold and lost I am_

_Shunned by the world_

Two entirely different people were brought together by circumstances. One needed redemption, the other wanted freedom from guilt. He was bound by gratefulness to her. She was bound by mercy to him. Their hearts transcended these binds, love replacing them. Together, they faced troubles, went through highs and lows. A great test came, a chance to prove that their love was true and pure.

This test would redeem an angel who fell from grace, but this angel who fell from grace left behind his Muse, who knew she could not love another. If they will still love each other even with such a test, only time will tell.

"_I was struggling with my head when I extinguished the flames but I wanted to give you a second chance. When I saw you, I knew immediately that you needed it."_

_**[An Angel's Redemption ends here.]**_

* * *

For this story and the sequel to come, you can be assured that I did my research, a lot, actually. : ) My purpose for doing such was to keep the integrity of the fiction, as well as contributing to the plot. For the interrogation techniques, I got it here (just put together the words):

http:// people. howstuffworks. com / police-interrogation1. htm

Thank you so much to you guys. You kept the story alive. Keep an eye out for the sequel.

For the poems, they are my original creation, so if you will, please critique them as well.

I'll be saying goodbye for now, hatching up the sequel, but I'll be back. Again, thank you to my dear readers. Review/PM me for your questions.

-TDYSG


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